


Falconmaster

by MoonLantern



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Sunne in Splendour- Sharon Kay Penman, The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Falcons, Gallifrey, Gen, Plantagenet, Richard III - Freeform, Time Lord, War of the Roses, York
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-02-19 14:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 77,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2392385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonLantern/pseuds/MoonLantern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1485 Yorkist England: The Doctor and Clara find themselves in the company of England's most mysterious king- Richard III. Can they trust him and gain his trust? Soon they find out that there is something far more sinister and Time Lord about the War of the Roses. How far would you go to resist established history?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Chapter 1- The Last of his Kind

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me over a year ago while watching the White Queen. I initially began posting on Fanfiction.net but here we have a wonderful and more established community, so I'm posting here too.

Prologue

"Open the gate!" Harrington ordered.

The gate of Leicester City was rolled open with an ancient groan, as a platoon of horses entered bearing bruised and battered men. All wore a solemn expression as they trooped into the city, which was full of women, children and older folk, who had anxiously stepped out of their homes to beg for answers.

"Where is the King?" asked an onlooker.

"He is here," a raven haired man responded, for he was King. But he wore no crown and his face was grazed, his breathing heavy, as was his heart. He descended from his horse and walked amidst the crowd. He sighed.

"Henry Tudor will be here by tomorrow morning!" the King declared. "By Royal Decree, I order all the citizens to evacuate."

The crowd began a gasp of panic. There were cries of desperate sadness, gushing like blood from a wound.

"Enough!" roared the King. The crowd fell silent, his air of calmness returned. "My men will help you to evacuate and make for safer cities. Tudor will want to finish with me, so I will prepare for siege!" With that he ordered the controlled and orderly dispersion of the citizens, as Pilkington helped them find a carriage out of the city to head somewhere safe. There were rows of hundreds of people being wheeled out, like an army of ants. The physician was hovering around the remaining soldiers, dusting their cuts and minor injuries; they would need all their depleting stamina had to offer.

The King sighed, pondering the fate of all these men. Bosworth had been a disaster, but when Tudor would arrive the city will be starved, burnt and utterly destroyed, because the real victor was someone far more ruthless and terrible than Tudor. Their situation was hopeless and the men saw it.

Meanwhile, another black haired man paced around the abandoned courtyard nervously; his hair messy, unlike its usual sleek form. He wore silver and white chainmail, but a collar of a grey shirt encompassed his neck, and something was clearly missing.

"Doctor!" the King called, limping over to him and placing a hand on his shaking arm. "Are you all right?" But that was a stupid question, for even without the Doctor's heartbroken eyes it was obvious that he was not. The King even knew why he was not all right and it pained him as well.

"It's all my fault!" the Doctor shuddered. "I-I should have..."

"Doctor, there's nothing you can do, I'm afraid," the King said hoarsely.

"What are they doing to her?" the Doctor demanded. "I should have got her another horse! If I wasn't too busy BEING A SHOW OFF!"

"Doctor, please, lower your voice!" the King growled, but his anger subsided for a sentimental look in his eyes- not pity, but empathy. "It will do you or no one any good to persist in blaming yourself."

"Richard, please..." begged the Doctor. "We need to save her, even if it's me who has to go! She doesn't deserve this... none of it..."

"I know," the King croaked. "I know." He exhaled and swallowed. "Doctor, I will ride out with you, but you are aware of what you are asking me to do, aren't you?"

The Doctor's words were caught in his dry throat. He knew what this meant, and so did the King, but there was no anger in the latter's voice, just a touch of resignation.

The Doctor nodded. "Yes, your Grace... I am sorry."

The King waved away the apology and a part of his mouth uplifted into a faint and grim smile. "Very well, but I need you to tell me the whole truth now! Hold nothing back, no matter what!"

The Doctor nodded.

 

Chapter 1- The Last of his Kind

They say that it's the people not the place that make the home. But the place is what reminds you of what home feels like, or felt like all those days or years ago.

Richard Plantagenet cleared the growing lump in his throat, as he stood on the green moors before a strong and mesmerising yet homely fortress that he knew too well- Middleham Castle.

He had called this place his home, he had felt at home here when he had played here as a little boy; he had felt at home here when he lived her as Duke of Gloucester, when his life had been much simpler, when he had been able to say what true happiness was and that he had felt it, when he wasn't King.

That felt like a lifetime ago. Richard realised, on this late April day of 1485, he had not set foot in Middleham Castle for a whole year, and even then it was an occasional visit. Being King had compelled him to move and reside in London, so Middleham had provided a comforting relief.

"Are you all right, your Grace?" a large burly red haired and bearded man said gruffly.

Richard gave a weak smile. "Yes, Brackenbury, thank you."

Sir Robert Brackenbury nodded and a twinkle of a smile grew. He had volunteered to accompany the King, who trusted him profoundly.

"I'll be all right to go on a little by myself," Richard requested. Brackenbury bowed and excused himself to take the horses to the stables.

The white clouds watched in anticipation as Richard slowly stepped onto the cobbled path that he had walked on so many times. The front gate led to a garden full of a cluster of bed and wall flowers that bowed and curtsied in the breeze, and Richard felt like bowing back. For a few moments, the sun shone a little brighter before the white clouds covered her, as Richard made his way past the courtyards and inside the mahogany door. His footsteps echoed with every beat of his heart, which both consoled yet numbed him.

Despite there being still servants and wardens to run this place, it felt deserted, ghostly even.

Richard turned into a large study room where the sunlight edged through the window and brought his attention to shortbow laying on the table below the hooks. He moved in to place bow in its rightful place.

However, Richard's fingers swept over the dust over some sort of carving.

"Amistad me liga," Richard read fondly. This bow had been a gift for him, when the giver had gone to Spain, but then Richard's heart caught in his chest.

A shabby and ragged man with a beard clutched the bars of his prison cell as a younger man was dragged into another. The first man desperately looked at Richard.

"Richard, please!" begged the man.

However, when Richard spoke it was not in his own voice. The new voice belonged to Ricardus- his voice and eyes were a deathly cold chill. The next few words burned on Richard's heart.

"I am not Richard!" he growled. "I am His Grace- too bad you will never see me crowned!"

Richard gasped with his blood burning with heat; he quickly put the bow back onto the table like a child caught trying to steal sweets. His conscience censured him with guilt; he did not deserve to lay hands on this bow.

Richard marched out of the room, refusing to relive the rest of that memory- he couldn't. It would be too much.

Like an invisible man, who ignored the occasional nods of the few servants in the castle, he made his way to a large hall at the back of Middleham Castle. It was not the main dining hall, but more of an auxiliary venue for indoor music and sports. There was a high pale roof, which was surrounded by the three carvings of the lions. The wall had several paintings of all those who had lived here including Richard Neville, former Earl of Warwick and Kingmaker, his cousin; Francis Lovell, his good friend from childhood; there was even a portrait of himself, dressed in a black and dark green robes, with some yellow stitching. But it was a bronze chest that beckoned him.

Richard, breathing heavily, slowly lifted the lid, which easily obliged. He dusted off the piece of cloth inside, but realised it was so much more than that, for it was a banner. The background was a sky blue, and as Richard spread it out on the floor, he saw the white falcon gliding- one of the emblems of the Plantagenets, his ancestors. He fondly stroked the design and smiled wistfully, realising that unlike most designs this one did not feature the falcon locked in the golden fetterlock- no, here the falcon was unburdened as he glided through the air with grace.

Richard remembered where he had first seen this design: many years ago when he was five or six. His father, the Duke of York, had a miniature chainmail armour made for him and this emblem was on it. York had told him, and each of his children that they would all have something to give in their own way. What had Richard given? He did not know. Edward, Edmund and George were all dead, Margaret was in Burgundy dealing with her late husband's lands, his other sisters were either married somewhere or no longer in this world. Richard did not feel free like the falcon, but he felt like the golden fetterlock was closing around him.

Like a reluctant man, Richard slowly put the banner away and shut the chest shut and pushed it into a corner, before covering it with a dirty white cloth. The House of York had a proud history, yet it was no longer what it was.

Richard's heart was heavy with dread and anticipation- so far he had managed to keep his composure, despite the great difficulty. He knew where he was heading next; he had to do this; he couldn't forget- he didn't want to. That's why he had come here in the first place.

Richard ascended up the stone stairs and found the room near the north side. He almost felt like he was intruding and a part of him forbade him from entering, but he resisted.

Slowly edging the door open, a ray of warm light swept through him, as he looked in. The four-poster bed was beckoning him with promise of rest. He half expected Edward, his late son, to come dashing around with his cousins Margaret and Edward, who everyone had called Ned, Megan and Ed to avoid confusion with their other kin.

But they were nowhere to be seen and the short burst of warm sunlight began to fade.

There was something else about this room that Richard sensed deeply in his soul. He picked up a long navy scarf, green dress and a set of smooth neck beads that were lying around. They smelt and felt like her. Exactly as Richard had remembered, like he had savoured for over ten years. Years that had slipped away too soon.

Richard sat down on a small stool and clutched the fabric and beads to his lips and kissed them and held them with a trembling hand. Sometimes, as Duke of Gloucester, he would rise early and sit on this stool and watch her peacefully sleep, which would fill his heart with fond content. But no more, it was all just a memory that was fading with time, a memory that he would never experience again.

It had been more than a whole month, and Richard missed her; he thought and dreamt about her everyday and every night, hoping that this was just a dream and he would awake to find her snuggling next to him.

But his bed in London was always too big- too vacant and too cold. The absence of a loving kiss, a comforting touch or a sympathetic ear was a luxury that he no longer had.

This was all he had left of her, all that he ever would. He knew that the show must still go on and that his country needed him, yet he longed for her just once more to give him that bit of strength and encouragement like she had always done. But she and Ned were both gone from here.

Richard's tears began flowing down his cheeks as he wept holding the last bit of her close to him. He was only thirty-two, yet he felt old and worn. He was one of the last of the Plantagenets and the last of his kind.

Suddenly, a most mysterious sound- almost like a wind in a cave- echoed from behind him. Richard jumped to his feet and drew his sword.

To his horror, a small blue cabin had appeared out of thin air. The door flew open and a man, in what could be described as an insanely small dark coat, dashed out. He was followed by a girl in a lilac tunic and black breeches that had to be men's.

"Wensleydale!" the black haired man began. "Home to..." He stopped, realising who was before him.

"Doctor, I don't think we got it quite right," the brunette girl said sheepishly.

"What is the meaning of this?" Richard demanded. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"Well..." the man called 'Doctor' began.

"You!" Richard snapped dangerously, pointing his sword at the red rose on the girl's tunic. "You are Lancaster! You are Tudor loyalists!"


	2. The Earl and the Lady

The Doctor's fingers trembled as he adjusted the controls on the TARDIS. His insides begged an answer, his stomach churned at the question and his hearts beated with anticipation.

He sat back in the control room chair and sighed, paying minimal attention to the weak and distant signal on the screen. There was a blue rectangle connecting to two lines that led to a fuzzy ball each- one was white and the other was red.

The Doctor rose and switched off the screen before turning on his heel. She had been feeling tired after, saying how it felt like she had already spent the day doing something really tasking, but couldn't even remember. She was right, but the Doctor was glad that she couldn't- he was glad to never have to repeat that day ever again.

He entered the library, where he found her, laying serenely on the sofa. Her dark brown hair lay loosely over her cheeks, with a book entitled The Lilac Lady across her softly rising belly.

The Doctor found himself simpering as he watched her for a moment before taking off his jacket to place over her.

However, her eyes snapped open before he could approach. "Hey," she yawned.

"Clara! S-sorry, I d-didn't mean to wake you," the Doctor stammered. What was wrong with him, he had never stammered in front of her, so why was it so different now? She had caught him by surprise that was all.

"No, it's fine," Clara waved, sitting up. She gave him a touched yet amused look.

"Good book?" the Doctor asked, changing the subject before she said anything.

"What?" Clara looked at the book as if for the first time. "Oh, yeah... I've not really read much."

"Do you feel safe?" the Doctor asked suddenly.

"What?" Clara giggled.

"How safe do you feel?" the Doctor pressed. "Ten being- haaaahhhhhh," he sighed. "One being- aaaarrrgh!" He waved his arms about pretending to scream.

"You're being weird," Clara commented lightheartedly.

"I need to know if you feel scared," the Doctor insisted with a touch of impatience; he needed to know, even if the inevitable was to come.

"Of what?" Clara said.

"Of the future. You're running off with a madman in a box, anything can happen to you," the Doctor pointed out.

"That's what I'm counting on," Clara replied cheekily. "You remember when I said 'show me something awesome'? That's what I meant."

The Doctor smiled, content with that answer. Part of him nagged with the words: if only she knew... but he blocked them out.

"How about we see something else that's awesome?" he suggested, clapping his hands together. "Clara, do you like tennis? Have you had the joy of seeing the Roses Tennis Tournament of 2085?"

"Yes and no- since I'm not a ninety year old woman," Clara grinned.

"No, I suppose you can't be as good looking as I was at ninety," the Doctor pondered. "I had a really baby-"

"Oi!" Clara playfully struck his arm.

"Sorry," the Doctor said, before jumping excitedly and pretending that he had a racket in his hand. "It was so close and so exciting to watch: James Dickson from York against Jasper Harrison from Lancaster... oh, I'm getting goosebumps even thinking about it!"

"All right, don't tell me!" Clara said quickly.

"Fine, I'll show you after you get dressed, eh?"

"Sure, why not?" Clara assented.

Minutes later, she had dressed into a lilac tunic over her black trousers and a red rose, which she had found by her dressing table, was fastened on her.

"What, I'm from Lancaster!" she explained, amused.

"Well, I'm going to have to support York," the Doctor responded and she gave him a look that made him grin inside. "Hey, you have to think about equal opportunities!"

"All right, all right, support the Yorkies," Clara sighed, causing him to grin with excitement.

From the depths of the TARDIS, the Doctor stuck a white rose on the lapel of his jacket and spun around feeling very proud.

"York University, tennis arena, 2085!" the Doctor announced, flicking a few switches on the controls. "Brace yourself!"

"Go on, let's see what you Yorkies can do!" Clara teased, grabbing on to the support as the TARDIS swerved through the vortex.

"OK..." the Doctor muttered. "That's interesting." He had caught sight of the display on the screen- rectangle that had become more defined into the fine outline of a wooden door; the fuzzy balls had morphed into the shape of two intricate flowers.

Suddenly, the TARDIS came to a halt.

"What's that Doctor?" Clara queried, looking at the screen.

"It's nothing!" the Doctor shrugged. "Well, when two things create a lot of excitement, passion or thrill then they creat a bilateral signal that begs visitors to share their passion or hopes, sometimes they even compete and that makes a stronger signal.

"Oh and guess where we are!" he grinned. "Guess where our venue is!"

"Where?" Clara looked intruigingly towards the door.

"Wensleydale!" the Doctor said, dashing out. "Home to-!" He had emerged into what seemed like a bed chamber. There was a four poster bed, which was adjacent to a raven haired man in a black robe and trousers. He drew a sword from his hip and pointed it at them.

"Doctor, I don't think we got it quite right," Clara squeaked.

"What is the meaning of this?" the man bellowed.

"Well..." the Doctor began, looking nervously at Clara. This was not good, this meant that the Doctor had made a big cock up.

"You!" snapped the man, glaring at Clara and pointing the tip of his blade at her, causing her heart to jump into her throat and run like a frantic prey. He had seen the red rose on her tunic. "You are Lancaster! You are Tudor loyalists!"

"W-what?" Clara blurted out, hoping that this was some immature prank by first-class actors. "No!"

"No, your Grace, we are most certainly not Tudor loyalists!" the Doctor declared with authority, pushing in between the sword and Clara. He puffed out his chest, hoping that the man would see his white rose.

The man moved back a little, but continued to circle them with suspicion.

"Clara, may I introduce Richard Plantagenet- also known as Dickon the Third," the Doctor explained.

"I am not Richard, or Dickon!" Richard growled. "I am his Grace the King!"

"Yes, but before that you are a man," the Doctor reasoned.

Clara's blood froze; she gazed at him. Was he out of his mind? How would telling a King, who believed that his blood was golden and divine, that he was a man help?

"A man who has seen a lot, a man who has lost and a man who has, most importantly, felt," the Doctor continued. "Perhaps too much, you sometimes believe."

Clara noticed that the faintest dried stream of a tear remained on Richard's cheek and his grey eyes gave away a deep sorrow. A sorrow that she had known too, she realised when their eyes met.

Richard averted his gaze and lowered his sword without sheathing it.

"Who are you?" he asked hoarsely.

Before they could reply, a large burly man and a tall man with short grey hair and beard charge into the room, swords drawn at the ready.

"Your Grace, what's going on?" the large redhead, called Brackenbury, said.

"Stanley, what are you doing here?" Richard asked the grey haired man.

"I was merely in the vicinity when I heard a commotion, your Grace," Stanley replied. "Who are these intruders? Speak quickly!"

"Not to worry," the Doctor said, brandishing his psychic paper. "I am Doctor, Earl of Gallifrey; this is my travelling companion Lady Clara, Dame of Maitland."

"Are these real estates, your Grace?" Brackenbury said gruffly.

"I'm not sure," Richard pondered, his eyes piercing the white rose on the Doctor's lapel. "Why do you wear the red and white roses? And associate with each other, as if friends?"

Clara and the Doctor looked at each other and resisted the temptation to say: "because we are".

"We are truly sorry for any offence caused, we never meant that," Clara replied.

"I would be very careful about trusting a Lancastrian and Yorkist who claim to be friends," Stanley advised, but Richard and Brackenbury gave him a half amused look.

"He's right, though," Brackenbury conceded. "These are intruders and should be punished-"

"No," Richard decided.

"No?" Brackenbury, Stanley and the Doctor said together.

Clara breathed a sigh of relief.

"No, because we still have use for them," Richard grinned slyly. He sheathed his sword. "You and Lady Clara will be escorted to London, and your cabin will be seized into Royal Custody!"

Clara gasped and her heart started beating rapidly again, as Stanley's pincer grip latched onto her shoulder.


	3. The Long Road

"Be gentle with her, please!" the Doctor half-begged and half-demanded.

"Or else what?" Stanley spat at his feet.

"No, Doctor, it's fine," Clara said quickly, not wanting the Doctor to get into any more trouble than he already was.

"Stanley!" Richard said sharply.

Stanley held back and bowed. "As you wish, your Grace."

Brackenbury tugged at the doors of the TARDIS, but it was futile, as they were sealed shut. "Is there a key to this?" Brackenbury said.

"No, I'm afraid it won't open," the Doctor replied coldly.

Brackenbury scowled and pounded the doors with his boot; however, he flinched in pain as the doors held their ground, leaving him to hop.

"Leave it, Sir Robert," Richard reminded impatiently. "Have the Harringtons deliver it London in a few days. Right now, we have more pressing matters to attend to."

There was an element of coldness or anger in the King's voice, which made Clara swallow and breath deeply, not knowing what he could do next.

They were escorted to five horses outside. Richard mounted a white coated stallion, Brackenbury rode a red coat- the colour of his hair and Stanley mounted a dark brown horse. The Doctor and Clara were handed two dappled grey ponies, which huffed at the arrival of the newcomers.

Clara apprehensively mounted her steed, without knowing how exactly to control the horse. It began neighing and fidgeting restlessly- Clara almost tore into its main for extra support. But the Doctor clicked with his tongue and stroked the horse, which calmed down immediately, like a child who had been shown a toy. He looked up and grinned at her; she only half returned it.

"Stanley, lead the way, please," Richard ordered. Stanley duly complied with the order and his steed began trotting steadily. The Doctor and Clara were flanked by Richard and Brackenbury, as they made their way out onto the long road that led over the miles of grassland.

The day began to get slightly chillier- or was Clara shivering because of the eerie silence of the five riders? The day began to grow old and worn; by sundown they approached what seemed like an Inn. It was a white stone compound, with windows that illuminated the night like lamps.

They handed their horses to a stable boy, who duly accepted and led the steeds into the barn, after Brackenbury gave him instructions.

The inside was full of merry laughter and music, where the musician was a young woman playing the banjo. She had jet black hair, which was mainly covered with a bandeu. The music seized and the room fell silent when the five entered, leaving the echoes of their boots on the wooden floor.

Richard waved them on to continue, almost impatiently.

"God save His Grace, the King!" the innkeeper, a plump red haired man with a moustache said.

"God save His Grace, the King!" the room echoed, including Clara and the Doctor. Clara noticed that the person who had shown the most enthusiasm was the banjo girl; however, she had no time to dwell on it as Stanley was beckoning them to the innkeeper's counter.

"Five rooms," Stanley ordered. "A guard each for these two."

"No, four!" Clara said suddenly, before the four men glanced at her. Her face turned red realizing the connotation that she had given. Stanley's jeering grin castigated her, but she did her best to ignore it. Clara felt scared- scared at the fact that there would be all these strange men outside the room that she would be sleeping in. What was supposed to be a trip to a tennis match had turned into a capture. At least, with the Doctor she would feel that little bit safer.

"Yes, four please," the Doctor assented, entwining his arm around hers.

"So you and your little whore can-?" Stanley scoffed.

"I am not a whore!" Clara bellowed aggressively stepping forwards, causing the whole inn to fall silent once more and even Stanley jumped. He recovered, his face red with embarrassment or anger. He placed a hand upon the pommel of his sword.

Clara held her breath in her chest, berating herself for what she had done.

"Four rooms, then, my Lady," Richard said quickly but loudly enough for Stanley to comprehend the order in disguise. The innkeeper quickly handed four keys to a younger boy, who looked like a porter.

Clara caught the sight of Banjo-girl as she picked up her instrument, who gave her a sympathetic smile; the way her eyes glistened told Clara that she was secretly proud.

Clara observed that she was fairly olive skinned, a sharp contrast to the fair skinned and fair haired crowd.

The captors ordered ale for them all before bedtime. It was simply one of the most disgusting of drinks that Clara had ever drank, but she grimaced and gulped.

"Lady Clara, would you prefer milk?" Richard asked.

Clara nodded slowly.

Richard smiled and ordered a mug of milk from the inn keeper. This tasted so much more pleasant, yet there was still a nagging feeling in her stomach.

"Your Grace, where are you talking us?" the Doctor asked.

"To Westminster."

"Yes, but why?"

Richard gave a sly smile. "You'll find out soon enough, Gallifrey."

There was no more said on the matter. Eventually, Brackenbury was asked to escort the Doctor and Clara upstairs to their room.

"The King has taken a shine on you both," Brackenbury said, once they were out of ear shot. "Especially you." His words pierced Clara like swords. "Don't think for one minute that you've fooled me; I will be keeping a close eye on you."

"Yes, since that is all you can do, Sir Robert!" the Doctor interjected. "Because of your orders. Of course, you are more than welcome to keep an eye on me."

"I will," the burly peer promised. For a moment, the two stood inches from each other, almost challenging the other to move away first.

Slowly, the Doctor stepped back into the room, while taking hold of Clara's hand. Brackenbury nodded and walked away as soon as they entered.

The room had two single beds on a tiled wooden floor and there was a window which was covered by a navy curtain. A dim candle burned on a desk between the two beds.

Clara breathed to steady herself, her heart racing with more anguish than when she was in the clutches of Lord Stanley. "You have a plan?"

"What?" the Doctor said. He was sat on the window sill, peering out. "I do have a plan, Clara."

"Well? Does it involve using your sonic screwdriver to get out of that window?" Clara suggested.

"No, it involves having breakfast tomorrow and heading to London."

"Doctor!" Clara gasped. "Are you for real? Are you actually for real?"

"Clara, think about it!" the Doctor urged, jumping to his feet. "They could have killed us on the spot, but no, they didn't, because they need us alive!"

"Doctor!" Clara snapped. "You asked me, a few hours ago, whether I feel safe!"

"Clara, listen to me," the Doctor responded, holding her shoulders and looking into her eyes, his own turning tender with sincerity. His tone wasn't loud or harsh, but strong. "I swear to you, I won't let anyone lay a finger on you." His hands found hers and the joining of their fingers prompted her to avert her gaze in order to avoid blushing. "When I make that kind of promise, Clara, you can trust me."

Clara smiled weakly. "I know, but... he's not the deformed hunchback-"

"He's got scoliosis," the Doctor said.

"Sorry?"

"His right shoulder is slightly higher, if you've noticed."

"No, I've been too busy..." Clara sat down on the bed closest to the window. "He's not exactly a saint, is he?"

"Nor am I," the Doctor pointed out.

Clara chuckled. "Yes, but he had his nephews killed so he could take the throne!" she hissed.

"Well... we don't really know that."

"Maybe, but we're really not in any position to find out," Clara said. "I mean, we can't just ask him: 'Hey, King Dickon, did you kill your nephews after you locked them in the Tower?', can we?"

Clara sighed. Maybe Richard was only a man who was shaped by his era, but she felt a deep unease at someone who could do that to their own flesh and blood for the sake of power. Such a person was truly dangerous.

"Look, when I was setting up the coordinates to go to 2085, there was something that was pulling the TARDIS here," the Doctor explained in a thoughtful whisper. "Something I can't yet explain, something involving a red rose, white rose and blue door.

"Look, I'm not saying that we should marry him, but let's see what Richard wants with us and what that thing is. It might turn out to be quite fun... and very awesome!"

Clara couldn't help but crack an amused smile. Even now the Doctor's bright outlook never seized to amaze her. She nodded, placing her red rose on the side table, next to the Doctor's white. Clara slept with unexpected ease; the fact that the Doctor was next to her, guarding her like he was the evening when they first met, probably played a major part.

She awoke with the light rays of dawn falling upon her face. The Doctor was sat in a chair before her, facing the foot of her bed, therefore guarding her and facing the door like a night watchman. She could almost swear that prior to her waking, she felt a stroke of the fingers on her hair. She smiled relishing that thought, as the Doctor's face appeared in her line of sight.

"Hey," she whispered dreamily.

"Hello," the Doctor responded, light heartedly.

The moment did not live long enough to be savoured; a harsh rap on the door jolted her into a sitting position.

"Breakfast!" growled the voice of Brackenbury.

The duo descended down to the inn to be greeted with the aroma of chicken and eggs- a roasted serving lay waiting for them at a table in what was supposed to be a pantry.

Richard, followed by Stanley rose, as they entered.

"Come, make yourself at home!" Richard decreed.

After filling their stomachs and drinking some milk, preferring that over the inn's disgusting ale, the Doctor and Clara were beckoned to see to the horses and continue with the journey.

A feeling of anticipation grew in Clara's belly by the afternoon. While the weather was nicer than yesterday, the horses seemed to be swaying their riders more and giving her a sort of nauseating motion sickness that swept up and down her blood stream.

However, they were fast approaching a huge stone rampart, with an iron gate that was as wide as half a lorry. There was a flailing flag of a white rose drawn out in black on a beige background.

Suddenly, the gate began to creak out as a shout of: "Here comes the King!" was heard. The ground echoed like steam roller wheels were being pushed across it.

"Gallifrey, Lady Clara," Richard said. "Welcome to London!"

A road full of cobbled stones lay before them, leading the way into the city. The road started off fairly narrow, but it widened as a slope lead up and the place got more crowded with people and thatched houses and miniature Gothic style churches and halls that made way for this royal band of riders, just like the subjects that spectated the arrival of their King.

The Doctor snuck Clara a grin and motioned ahead. Clara recognised the bridge that they were about to cross, but the foul smell of waste and the brown dirtied river below that was full of things that she dared not look into out of fear of retching, made her worry for the plight of the Thames.

But up ahead was a palace that greeted them with a vast and tall archway that gaped like a mouth of a whale. It beckoned them inside the heart of Westminster Palace.


	4. Dreams of a Princess

Your Grace, you are back already?" a yellow robed, brown curly haired and middle aged man greeted. There was a red collar entwined along his neck.

"Indeed, Catesby," Richard replied, dismounting under the archway; his noblemen and the Doctor and Clara followed suite, with the Doctor holding a hand to assist Clara. "And we have guests!"

"Ah, and who might they be?" Catesby asked warmly, reaching to shake the Doctor's hand. "William Catesby, Lord Chancellor!"

"Doctor, Earl of Gallifrey; and Lady Clara, Dame of Maitland," Richard introduced.

Catesby raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it. "Right, well this way!" he urged, before dropping into a hushed conversation with the King.

The Doctor and Clara were led into a grand hall that emitted rays of light through its stain glassed windows, where two wooden thrones sat on the end, both looking chipped and with bits eaten away by bugs.

"Eve, please show Lady Clara to a guest room, and get her something more appropriate," Richard ordered a blonde woman, who looked about the same age as Clara.

The Doctor and Clara gave each other and Richard a nervous and quizzical glance.

"Don't worry, I will not keep you apart for long," Richard reassured. "It is prudent that she gets some rest and food before we set off again."

"What? You mean that Westminster Palace isn't the destination, it's just the service station?" the Doctor blurted out, disappointed. "Although to be fair, there are some service stations that are less drab than the destinations they lead to, like the one between-"

"This is a palace, not a station!" Brackenbury corrected sternly.

"Yes, Doctor, we are headed to the Rivers Estate, East of where we are now," Richard informed. "There is someone there that I want you to meet."

"Who?" Clara asked.

"All in good time, my Lady. Eve!"

Eve curtsied and took Clara by the hand down one of the doors on the right of the throne room.

"Why us?" the Doctor asked, after the four of them were seated on a table and being served some chicken soup.

Richard looked fascinated, Stanley almost choked on his food with laughter, Brackenbury glared and Catesby looked deferentially towards Richard.

"Go on, I like a good mystery, which is why I'm wondering why you chose us for whatever goal you have? The Rivers Estate... yes that's where your sister-in-law lives, but it's not just her who lives there, is it? Has it got anything to do with-?"

"I do not know why, Doctor," Richard said quickly. "I only know it has to be you two."

The Doctor studied Richard's furrowed face, and realised how the frown lines on his forehead mirrored his own like a waves of a tide. He smiled.

"I'll do what I can, your Grace," he assured.

"May I help you, my Lady?" Eve called from behind the wooden screen.

"No, thank you, I'm nearly done," Clara called back. "And it's 'Clara', by the way."

"I'm so sorry, my- Clara," Eve squeaked.

"It's fine," Clara sighed. She stepped out from behind the screen. Her navy blue dress draped over her like a long full sleaved tunic dress. Her lilac tunic and black trousers lay discarded on a table near a bed.

"You look fabulous!" Eve complimented.

"Thanks," Clara replied, blushing slightly. Despite the conservative length of the dress, it was light and beautiful enough, with intricate shapes weaved on- it was said that this came from a bazaar in Rabat.

"Would you like to eat here?" Eve asked. "The King will allow it, so long as we attend to him as soon as afterwards."

Clara hesitated; she wanted to find the Doctor and know where he was and whether he was safe, despite her head telling her adamantly that he was. But Eve's eyes gave a longing hope that she had once felt.

"It's OK, I shouldn't have asked," Eve retracted.

"No, it's OK, I would like that!" Clara said. Soon they were both sat at a nearby table scoffing what turned out to be a rice pudding. Eve told Clara about how her family were mostly killed during the last War of the Roses, when her father was killed at Barnett. It was mainly down to some feud between the then King, Edward IV, and his cousin Richard Neville, the Earl of Warwick. Eve always feared the prospect of her brothers being killed too soon, all because the Yorkist and Lancastrian threat engaged in a messy duel again.

"I'm sorry," Clara said, at loss of words, as Eve looked as if she was about to cry. The former cleared her throat and breathed, holding out her hands for Eve. "Look, I know that the men appear all macho and brave, but I reckon that they need us ladies to keep up their appearances, or else their world will fall apart." A cheeky smile crept on her face, which Eve returned.

Suddenly, Clara heard a faint giggle or a whisper nearby. Her first reaction was to tell Archie and Angie off, but a pair of feet protruded from a hanging tapestry of a river, which implied that she was not far off.

Eve had risen with her and they both crept towards the feet like lionesses. They pulled the tapestry aside and two children screamed.

"Margaret! Edward! What are you doing here?" Eve demanded, transforming into a stern matron. She grabbed hold of both of their ears and hissed in a dangerous tone: "Did you watch her?"

"Eve, that's enough, you can let go now!" Clara said calmly, but very firmly.

Eve sheepishly complied.

"Now," Clara said, leaning and placing a hand on the two brunette children, both with their eyes downcast. The girl appeared to be about eleven or twelve, and the boy was a bit younger. "What are your names?"

"Margaret," said the girl. "But everyone calls me Megan, and this is Ed, my brother."

"Well then, Megan and Ed, how long have you been here, truthfully," Clara pressed.

"Only a minute or two, I swear to God, my Lady!" Megan said. "It won't happen again, promise!"

"Make sure it doesn't, please," Clara nodded. "Now, who'd like some rice pudding?"

The faces of the children lit up and they were each offered a bowl each.

Eve, who had been uneasy about this at first, lightened up and engaged as Megan and Ed told Clara about who they were. Ed was very excitable, he told her about cudgelling- his favourite past time- which involved knocking your opponent off of a heap of hay with a sort of club or quarterstaff. Although, Megan preferred the more cultured game of bowling.

They told her about their family, it had been their aunts and uncles who had looked after them- but they had never known their parents. Their Aunty Anne and Uncle Richard had raised them, taken them in and taught them, but lately they had seen less and less of them over the past few months or even year.

Before Clara could offer a word of comfort, a tall and skinny faced man knocked on the door and entered. "Lady Clara?"

"Yes?"

"I am Richard Ratcliffe, Knight of the Garter," the brown cloaked man said bowing. "The King awaits you in the throne room."

"Very well," Clara said, rising. "I'll see you later, Megan and Ed, nice to meet you!"

"Bye, my Lady!" they sang and waved, as Eve and Ratcliffe escorted her back into the throne room, where the Doctor, Richard, Catesby and Brackenbury were waiting for her.

"Lady Clara, I hope that lunch was to your satisfaction," Richard said, looking up.

"It was, your Grace," Clara responded.

"Excellent! You and the Doctor will ride with Catesby, Ratcliffe and myself to the Rivers Estate," Richard declared.

"What about Sir Robert and Lord Stanley?" Clara asked.

"Stanley had to excuse himself, in any case, he will be staying here with Sir Robert," Catesby informed.

"Do you still have your two roses with you?" Richard enquired.

Clara held her breath for a split second, reaching to where her rose would have been had she not removed it.

"I have it here," the Doctor said, pulling out the red and white rose from his jacket pocket.

"Good, now wear it where it can be seen, that's very important," Richard ordered.

"Any reason why?" Clara asked hesitantly.

"You'll see!" Richard evaded, yet again.

Within minutes, they were saddled upon the horses that they arrived with. It was only an hour or two that they rode for. The journey was very quiet. Ratcliffe and Catesby treated them with a sort of mild neglect, which was a welcome change from Stanley's perverse comments.

Eventually, a paved road led to a white stoned property if a decent size, which reminded Clara of a typical country house.

"Right before you, Clara, is the Rivers Estate, home to Elizabeth Woodville, sister-in-law of the King!" the Doctor informed. "She was married to the late Edward IV, after being married to Lord John Grey, who Edward's Yorkists killed in battle, which says a lot about the questionable flirting tactics during this-"

"Thank you, Doctor, I think we can leave out the detailed backstory!" Richard said impatiently.

Any time for a commentary was interrupted by the horses trotting to a halt before the cottage, where a blonde woman curtsied before them. She wore a cream coloured dress and was quiet tall and into her late thirties to early forties.

"Your Grace, how are you?" the woman said. Before he had a chance to reply, she continued. "What brings you here?"

"As usual, Lady Rivers," Richard responded, with an almost unnatural amity. "How is Bess?"

Lady Rivera's eyes widened with surprise. "Elizabeth?"

"I heard that she was currently staying with you," Richard pressed.

"Yes," said Lady Rivers. "Yes, certainly, this way..." Her voice trailed off as the riders had all dismounted and followed her inside the cottage and into a medium sized room that looked like a dining room, certainly it had a dining table in it.

"So, that was Elizabeth Woodville?" Clara whispered discreetly to the Doctor.

"Yes, she was Queen at one point," the Doctor informed.

As the guests settled down, another blonde girl entered the room. Despite her downcast eyes, her waves of hair emitted a touch of sorrowful beauty, which flickered like a candle when she saw the guests.

"Richard?" she asked.

"Elizabeth," Richard nodded formally. There was an uncomfortable pause. "I hear you've been having bad dreams."

"Yes," Elizabeth replied, before her eyes fell on Clara and the Doctor, and her brows furrowed. "Who are they?"

"This is Lady Clara, I'm Doctor, Earl of Gallifrey, also a trained physician as far as dreams are concerned. Tell me about them," the Doctor said.

Elizabeth took a deep and hesitant breath.

"They're here to help," Richard assured. "Have a look at the roses on them, does it help?"

Elizabeth closed her eyes, as if trying to remember and visualise, but they snapped open quickly.

"What is it?" Richard urged. "Have you made a connection?"

Clara walked over to table that had a jug of water in, before pouring a glass for Elizabeth. "There we are, do you want to have some more privacy?" She glanced at the level of presence in the room.

Catesby and Ratcliffe rose and politely excused themselves, whereas Richard rose but remained standing.

"Bess, you need to let us help you," he whispered.

"I know, Uncle," Elizabeth said.

"OK, first thing's first, what are these dreams about?" the Doctor asked.

"There's a red rose and a white rose dancing around each other," Elizabeth explained. "For some reason, it makes me feel happy, and content.

"There's also a blue door in the background."

"But it doesn't last, does it?" the Doctor said grimly.

Elizabeth looked at him with surprise. "Yes, it just all fades and I can hear people screaming and crying out..."

"Can you say why they're screaming?" Clara enquired.

Elizabeth pondered but shook her head. "I'm so sorry, but I can't remember!"

"Don't worry, it's not your fault," Lady Rivers said, holding her hand.

"If you want, Elizabeth, I can try help you remember," the Doctor offered.

"How?"

"I told you, I'm a physician of dreams," he grinned and placed a his fingers on her temple after taking the lack of objection as an acceptance.

As soon as he closed his eyes, he was sucked through a vortex of space through fields and cities. Hushed and frantic whispers tormented his mind with their pain and suffering. He couldn't help them because he couldn't even make out what they were saying. Cities burned alight and were pillaged by soldiers of an unimaginable bloodthirst and greed.

The Doctor exhaled, focusing his energy on the root of all this. The view rapidly soared over the landscape and something told him that they were in Chester.

A set of blue-grey stones made the jaws of a cave that roared at them, beckoning them, daring them to come in.

Suddenly, the view changed and they were at the base of a ruined castle, the air was the dirtiest grey and tar like substances precipitated from the sky.

"You won't get away this time... Elizabeth!" a voice rasped. A man, covered from head to toe in a fiery silver plated armour trunched from behind a broken altar, a blood red rose was stitched on his body, a thick Viking sword lay in his hands, a visor was the only thing that stood in between the world and his flaming eyes.

The Doctor's blood froze as he saw this man. He could feel Elizabeth tremble in distress, but encouraged her to hang on a little longer.

"Doctor!" the knight recognised. "Earl of Gallifrey?" He broke into a fit of cruel laughter and the Doctor felt terror. He felt himself slip and drop to the floor with a thud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone want to hazard a guess as to who the armoured man is? ;)


	5. Whispers in Westminster

"Doctor!"

"Elizabeth, wake up! Are you all right?"

The Doctor snapped his eyes open, wincing and touching his head. Clara had been shaking him and Richard put a hand on his shoulder. Elizabeth was sobbing as she sat on the floor, Lady Rivers holding her to her chest, attempting to comfort her.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, are you all right?" Clara asked.

"Is that what you saw, Doctor?" Richard half demanded.

"I don't know, I think I might have seen a ghost," the Doctor croaked. "I also heard the voices that were calling- calling from a cave near Chester, I think.

"I saw cities being burned to crisp and its people slaughtered by an army. I saw a man in a suit of armour and a visor, who terrifies the dreams of your niece." The Doctor stood up and walked boldly up to Richard, who was visibly a little shorter.

"Doctor, who is he?" Richard whispered.

"Have you not asked Elizabeth?" the Doctor asked glancing at her. "She has a hunch, doesn't she?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Warwick," she mumbled.

"Richard Neville? The Kingmaker?" Richard said, raising his eyebrow. "But he's been dead for nearly fifteen years?"

"Maybe so, but he's been haunting her dreams for quite sometime, hasn't he?" the Doctor queried.

Elizabeth nodded.

"Why?" Clara asked. "How long?"

"When he deposed of my father, King Edward..." she glanced at her mother. "We always had to go into sanctuary. There was one time when his army arrived at our castle and we... we had to hide and run for our lives. My baby brother started crying and I thought we would get caught!"

"But we got out safe, didn't we?" Lady Rivers offered.

"Yes, we did," Elizabeth cracked a smile, which instantly gave Clara a burst of happiness to counter the anguish she was feeling as she silently listened to the story. "Luckily, there was some sort of fight, and the men were distracted.

"I used to have nightmares about him, but he would never be visored up, like he is now, but I recognised his voice- that deep and vengeful voice of his."

"Doctor, can you help her?" Richard almost pleaded, after taking him to the side. "Not even the best physicians in the land or the finest sleeping draughts have, but the connection she feels with you and Clara is more than what I was expecting. Please, can you help her in any way?"

"I think I can." A slight but warm grin emerged on the Doctor's face.

"Right! Now, Princess Lizzie here has a pretty unique problem, her dreams seem to be transmitting a signal of communication from her neo-cortexy part of the brain. Ergo! We must communicate back with this little devil in her head, and how do we do that?" he grinned excitedly, jiggling across the room.

"Are you saying that she should be exorcised?" Lady Rivers demanded. Elizabeth looked scared, Clara and Richard gaped at him confused.

"No!" the Doctor tufted indignantly. "No! No one is going to be exorcised! These voices seem to be originating from somewhere."

"The cave in Chester?" Elizabeth offered.

"What cave in Chester?" Richard asked.

"In her dreams, after hearing the voices and the burning city, she's taken to a cave in or near Chester, there's just a voice that tells her that," the Doctor explained. "That's a key in solving this mystery!"

"So, we have to go to Chester?" Clara said.

"Exactly!"

"Very well, we shall journey back to Westminster, and gather a party from there," Richard said. "Doctor? Lady Clara? I trust that you will be joining us?"

"Of course!" the Doctor assented, after an encouraging nod from Clara.

"What about Elizabeth?" Clara said.

Richard's smile faded. "No, I think it's best that she stays here, for her own sake."

Elizabeth nodded sadly. "I understand."

"I'm sorry, your Grace, but how is that better for her sake?" Clara asked.

Elizabeth touched her arm and shook her head. "It's OK, Clara, it's fine, please leave it."

Clara inhaled and her face showed her scepticism. How could it make sense for Elizabeth not not come? Surely having her there would be useful? Unless, there was something that she was missing.

"Actually, your Grace, Elizabeth will be able to point us on whether the cave we find was indeed the same one in her dream," the Doctor reasoned. "Plus, I can monitor whether her dreams worsen."

Richard pondered for a moment and then nodded. Clara noticed how he swallowed and how reluctant he was. "Very well, but you are to stay with Lady Clara, she will look after you, won't you?" he addressed the last bit to Clara, who smiled at him and then at Elizabeth.

"I'll be more than happy to, your Grace,' Clara said, and saw a spark of appreciation in the eyes of Elizabeth and Lady Rivers.

 

So it was, Richard, Catesby, Ratcliffe, the Doctor and Clara rode back to Westminster Palace with Princess Elizabeth amongst their party. Upon reaching the palace and having their horses escorted to the stables, they ventured back into the Great Hall to be greeted by Megan and Ed, who ran into Elizabeth first, before turning to the others.

"Good evening, your Grace," Megan echoed. Ed snickered and greeted them loudly. The Doctor laughed and blew a silent raspberry, the other men nodded with "my Lady, Sire," but Richard acted the strangest. He gave a weak smile and placed a hand on each of their little heads. They both looked up to their uncle, clearly glad and surprised; however, the King swiftly withdrew his hands.

"Thank you, very happy to see you," he said mechanically and walked past them.

Clara sighed and briefly hugged them both before following Richard.

"Your Grace, you are back?" Lord Stanley said approaching them, then his eyes sparked like an amulet of the sun. "Princess Elizabeth, what a pleasant surprise!"

"Stanley, are the Falcon Knights in London presently?" Richard asked.

"What are the Falcon Knights?" the Doctor enquired.

"Some of the finest and closest knights of the King, Doctor," Catesby explained. "Akin to the Knights of the Garter, though some of them also are that too."

"Sort of like King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table?" the Doctor observed.

"I suppose so," Catesby replied warmly.

"Yes, your Grace, they should be. I have just seen Brackenbury," Stanley informed. "Also, Sir Francis was here, half an hour ago."

"Is he still here?" Richard asked.

"He should be."

"Excellent! Arrange a meeting tomorrow at noon, we have a task at hand!" Richard said.

"Yes, your Grace," Stanley bowed and exited.

"Very well, I shall allow you to retire," Richard dismissed them all. "Lady Clara, please show Elizabeth to your dormitory- you will be sharing."

Clara nodded, yet a question burned in her mind.

"Doctor, I would like you to meet my friend, Sir Francis Lovell, if you will," Richard beckoned towards a double door. "He should be waiting for us in the South Study."

"Clara?" Elizabeth whispered.

Clara jolted awake, realizing that Elizabeth was already out of the Great Hall, wondering why she hadn't followed, after all the men had dismissed them. The brunette raised a hand, signalling to wait, before striding after the men."You Grace, can I have a word, please?"

The five turned around swiftly.

Richard beckoned them to go on; Ratcliffe and Catesby walked on, yet the Doctor stayed put.

"Yes, Lady Clara, what is it?"

"With all due respect, my Lord, why did you do that?" Clara asked.

"Do what?" Richard said smiling.

"The children, they clearly love you and missed you, why do you act as if you're ashamed to return that love?"

Richard's smile faded.

"I saw, you wanted to ruffle their hair, and I don't blame you; they are very cute children," Clara pointed out. "But why did you pull back?"

"Clara, I don't think-!" the Doctor began.

"No, let her speak her mind," Richard said. He inhaled a long and uncomfortable pause.

"Your Grace, I meant no disrespect, I'm just interest-"

"Not at all, Clara," Richard responded, his grey eyes burning into her. "Since you're so fond of them, you should spend more time together. Goodnight." He turned on his heel and walked away.

"He'll come round," the Doctor whispered and turned to follow.

Clara just stood there feeling baffled, and a little disappointed and offended.

 

"Francis, may I introduce you to Doctor, Earl of Gallifrey!" Richard said.

"Very happy to meet you, sir," a dark red haired man in a green doublet responded, shaking the Doctor's hand.

They were in the South Study, a large and warmly lit room with more than a dozen bookshelves guarding them. They were sat with Ratcliffe and Catesby, drinking and discussing what had happened today.

"You don't honestly think that it's Richard Neville, who could be behind all this, do you?" Francis asked, though he didn't seem like he was ruling it out.

"I think a lot can be possible," the Doctor said cautiously. There was something bugging him, he did not think that the late Earl of Warwick could have the power to commune with the living, nor could he have the power to know who he was and terrify he had done. Something was not right, but the Doctor couldn't exactly place his finger on it. He hadn't even had the chance to Clara about it; she would probably be asleep now.

"I reckon it could be Tudor, trying to play with you from Brittany, your Grace!" Ratcliffe laughed, before belching and looking ashamed and almost dropping his drink, prompting them all to chuckle.

"Come on, Elizabeth, we need to go for breakfast!" Clara said, beckoning to the door of their dormitory.

"I don't think I want to go," Elizabeth mumbled, staring out of the window.

"What, why?" Clara asked. "What's wrong?" Coming to think of it, Eve had acted quite strangely today when she delivered some fresh clothes to them- she had scuttled away very quickly. Clara at first had put this down to her feeling a little intimidated by being in the presence of two "Ladies", but Elizabeth seemed to be displaying the same tells.

"It's nothing!" Elizabeth finally waved off, despite Clara not being the least bit convinced.

Breakfast in the pantry started quite painfully. As soon as the girls walked in, there were some women, presumably the maids, sat closer to the door, who ceased their conversations and began looking away.

Clara sighed and kindly beckoned Elizabeth to follow her to the other side of the pantry, away from the whisperers. Ideally, she had wanted to take her away from here and perhaps into the Great Hall, but the King had written specific orders that Elizabeth eats in the pantry and a request that Clara "look after" her. Clearly she was socially anxious, but this didn't seem to help her anxiety either.

The cooks were serving boiled corn and eggs alongside porridge. It was then when Megan and Ed dashed into view, still in their nightgowns- like the ones you could use to go to Neverland- and propped themselves next to Elizabeth and Clara, visibly relaxing the former.

"Lady Margaret, Lord Edward, come away from there and sit here!" barked a plump middle aged maid with curly blonde hair.

The kids hesitated.

"Now!"

"Excuse me!" Clara coughed. "She is their cousin, not a rabid dog! What's the harm in them having breakfast together?" The whole room looked taken aback.

"I detest your lack of manners, young lady, you deserve to be taken outside and caned!" the matron barked.

"I don't think you've shown any today!" Clara said disgusted. Her tone softened as she looked at the kids. "It's all right, stay where you are."

"How dare you?" snarled the matron. "Speak to me like that again and I will speak to His Grace, the King, you filthy little wench!"

"His Grace, the King, would be appalled at how you're treating his niece and behaving in front of these children and ruining their breakfast!" Clara snapped, standing up. "But be my guest, your threats mean nothing to me."

The matron huffed and sat back down; clearly even her fellow maids thought that she had gone too far.

"Thank you," croaked Elizabeth, a few minutes later after they were done and had left the pantry. "You really didn't have to do that."

"It's all right," Clara laughed. "She was being quite a cow!"

Elizabeth returned the laughter, but it faded quickly. "Clara, do you really not know?"

"Know what?" Clara said with her eyebrow raised. "What is it, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth took a deep and hesitant breath, before forcing a smile. "Nothing, it's just that after my father's death, it turned out that he was already married to someone else and that made me a bas-"

"Don't say it! It's a very ugly word, Elizabeth," Clara comforted swiftly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "That's no excuse for the matron's behaviour."

"Thank you, Clara," Elizabeth responded bashfully. "By the way, you can call me Bess, if you want."

"OK, Bess."

"Princess Elizabeth, Lady Clara?" Catesby called.

"Hello, Clara and Lizzie!" the Doctor said, appearing next to him.

"Hey, did you sleep well?" Clara beamed. "And where did you disappear off to last night, Chin Boy?"

"I was networking!" the Doctor said defensively. He held out his arm for both the girls, who took hold, before being somewhat pleasantly surprised. He and Catesby led them to the doors of the Great Hall.

"Doctor met quite a few people, very good people if you ask me," Catesby said.

"There was Francis Lovell, the Harrington brothers and quite a few that you should meet. All of us would make a very good football team, one of them even looked a little bit like a friend of mine- Craig. Well, except for his height and build and hair colour, but the shape of his eyes were enough so maybe he was some sort of ancestor.

"Which reminds me!" he stopped and turned to Catesby. "Thank you for Wilf, and somewhat thank you for Jackie!"

"My Lady, what is he talking about?" Catesby cried. "Who are these people?"

"I have no idea, honestly, Mr Catesby," Clara admitted.

"Clara, Lizzie," the Doctor said, placing his hands on the double doors. "Prepare to meet the rest of our company!"


	6. The Cave of Phantoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have included included a point about hygiene (or a lack of it) and soap from Cairo, because I prefer to think of some characters as having more than the conventional level of hygiene for their time. I don't know if the soap was used, but since the Crusades new fashions and things were imported from the East and for the purpose of this story, I'm saying that they were somewhat used by the people of England.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I had no idea that what happens at the end would happen until I actually wrote it. This is where some real action happens!

Clara and Bess followed the Doctor and Catesby into the Great Hall, where a company of knights awaited them.

There was Ratcliffe, who nodded politely; Brackenbury, who nodded mechanically; Stanely grinned with only his lips and raised a goblet; James Harrington was a stocky but slim man with brown hair and smiled as he shook the Doctor's hand and raised the ladies' to his mouth. His brother Robert was slightly taller and fashioned a goatee and moustache. Next to the King sat Francis Lovell and beside him was a man called John Huddleston, an almost nervous looking and endearingly clumsy man.

"So this is our company?" Clara muttered to Elizabeth and the Doctor.

"Lady Clara, Princess Elizabeth! You're here!" Richard welcomed, before the Doctor could reply.

"Your Grace, is it such a good idea for the women to come?" Francis asked.

"Yes, Lady Clara and Doctor will help us with the meaning of the red and white roses, and this is Princess Elizabeth's dream," Richard declared rising.

Within minutes the party had risen and were joined, at the entrance to Westminster, by two dozen more soldiers bearing the emblem of a white boar or rose, where they saddled upon their horses and trotted through London like a procession.

The Doctor hung back to Clara, furrowed brows giving away the reserve that he was showing.

"Doctor, what's wrong?" she whispered, once they were a safe distance from the main party and the logistic personnel, who carried with them poles and canvasses.

For a moment, the Doctor didn't reply, but quickly flicked on a smile. "Nothing!"

"Doctor, tell me," Clara insisted.

"All right," he sighed. "Who do you think is haunting Lizzie's dreams?"

"She thinks it may be Warwick," Clara pondered slowly. The more she thought about it now, the less sure she became. "You don't think so?"

"No," the Doctor admitted. He recalled the doubts that he was having and how Ratcliffe seemed to think that it was Tudor.

"Tudor?" Clara said, raising an eyebrow. "Last time I checked Henry VII-"

"Clara!" hissed the Doctor. "Be really careful! Not only could that be treason, but you could be meddling with established history by telling people that!"

Brackenbury, who was riding ahead next to Catesby, turned and gave them an excruciating and piercing look. After a long moment he continued looking ahead.

"I'm so sorry!" Clara excused. "I mean, he didn't have the ability to infect people's minds or know who you were, did he?"

"Well, I did accidentally get married to his granddaughter but I doubt he was keeping tabs on me. No, I don't think it's him, but something else..."

"What?" Clara said, although she didn't quite know to which part should she be referring to.

"I suppose we'll find out when we get to Chester!" the Doctor replied simply.

The journey out of London was relatively swift and trouble free; however, as they stepped out of the walls, the north-western gail gushed at them, almost forbidding them to go on. Despite the initial unnerving of their horses, the company trotted on.

When they reached the country, the rain began pouring like a curse, and they hastily were forced to put up a few tents, while the patter of water and roar of thunder stranded them in the middle of a field near St Albans.

Clara and Bess shared a tent of their own, and both slept in a bed made from sheepskin. The fist night turned out to be cold as well as wet, but that was not the main worry.

Bess fell into another dream- a dream that haunted their little tent and Clara had to shake her awake. It was a dream of being on a battlefield full of dead bodies of allies and enemies, that were enough to sadden the most warfaring of men. It was a dream of being completely alone as a gang of enemies cornered you like hounds on a fox, and cut off all your chances of survival as a hundred swords perforated you and halberds crushed you all at once.

"It's OK, honey," Clara comforted. "No one is going to hack you, not while I'm here!"

Bess chuckled softly and opened her mouth but no words came out.

"Maybe we should tell the Doctor, or your uncle?" Clara suggested.

"No! Bess barked. Clara was taken aback, but Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap."

"What is it, Bess?" Clara probed. "Why do you not want that?"

"Nothing," Bess whispered. "I just don't want to distract them from this expedition. I'll tell them after, I promise."

Clara wasn't convinced, but she left it there.

The rest of the journey was incredibly laborious and irritating. The days would dally for so long, and while the wilderness and the camping was mildly bearable, it was the hygiene- or lack of it- that made Clara cringe with unease. How people could go for days like this without so much as a bath, shower or wash was beyond her. At Westminster she didn't sense as much of it; Eve had directed her to a bathtub with a rare soap from Cairo, where this was much more common. Clara had realised just how rare this was in England, where only the wealthiest could afford this much soap and still wouldn't even think of using it as often as they should. She shivered to contemplate what would happen if the scorching heat of Cairo descended on them right now, cursing them with perspiration and enhancing their already perceivable odours.

The Doctor, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself- a little too much. He had somehow got hold of a banjo and spent the evenings painting his face with soil. Normally, they would have found an inn to stay at but apparently there were none on this route. Despite the merriness, the way that some of these men behaved was enough to minimise any enjoyment.

Surprisingly, the King would remain the quietest of them all, seeming oblivious to almost everything, yet the Doctor would catch him scanning and perceiving like a peregrine falcon, as if he had heard everything.

They finally overcame a hill and beheld a blue-grey mouth that shone like a jewel tempting a thief. The sunlight dropped upon it and a semi-rainbow seemed to form. However, a gush of a wind ran through them like fire from a dragon, prodding them away and something remarkable and chilling happened. The horses began neighing in distress like a bell toll of death.

The wind howled hushed whispers; they were too jumbled to make sense of, but the pain and terror was manifestly evident.

Bess screamed in pain, cupping the side of her ears.

"Bess!" Richard yelled, travelling towards her, while Clara frantically held her trying to console the Princess.

"We need to get her away from here!" Clara recommended.

"Brackenbury!" Richard said. "Take Princess Elizabeth back to our last camp!"

"Your Grace!"

"Is everyone else all right?" The others nodded; despite being able to hear the hushed cries, none of them were affected as much. "Everyone else, follow my lead!" Richard edged forwad with his horse, but the howling wind was having none of it. The horse keeled back, as Richard was thrown down flat on his back.

The Doctor and James immediately dismounted to assist him back to his feet.

"I'm fine!" Richard answered to a flurry of enquiries.

"Careful, your Grace!" called Stanely.

"Your Grace, we'll have to walk in without the horses!" the Doctor said.

"Are you mad?" Ratcliffe yelled. "We don't know what's waiting for us in the cave!"

"We're not going to get anywhere near with the horses!" the Doctor shouted back.

"We need to make a decision quickly otherwise we'll all freeze to death!" Richard declared, wrapping his cloak firmly around himself. "Everybody, unmount! Robert, gather the torches! Doctor, Stanley, James, Ratcliffe, Pilkington and Huddleston, follow me inside- the rest of you stand guard here!"

"What about me?" Clara asked.

"My Lady, it is not safe," Catesby reminded her, as if she needed reminding.

"Besides, you do not have a weapon," Richard said.

"Doctor is unarmed too!" Clara pointed out.

"Lady Clara, what could you possibly do to help-?" Stanley began.

"Excuse me, I'll have you know that I have hunted ghosts with the Docor!" Clara snapped. "I might have the body of a small woman, but I more than make up for it with my spirit and my intelligence! Please, I won't leave the Doctor on his own."

"Very well," the King nodded. "But stay close!" He turned to walk. The Doctor exchanged an encouraging glance and smile with Clara.

"Your Grace, are you sure-?" Catesby started.

"I don't have time to argue! Now move!" Richard bellowed, almost quietening the whispers of the wind.

Robert had lit a few small torches and distributed to the company. They all charged towards the cave, hands on a hilt or sonic screwdriver- Clara's were firmly on the torch, ready to swing if necessary.

Just as the company was metres away from the mouth of the cave, a skeleton leaped from over the roof and rasped like a witch. He pounced on Stanley and struck him hard into the stomach, knocking him down.

The company looked at him in a mix of horror and anticipation, as he stepped back and pulled himself up to his full height, a fiery red glow burning where his eye sockets should have been, a growl escaping from his jaws.

"Stand your ground!" Richard commanded, drawing his sword. "Protect Doctor and Lady Clara!" The others followed suite except Ratcliffe who pulled Stanley up to his feet.

"I think we've woken the guards," the Doctor said.

"What are you talking about, don't you mean 'guard'?" James asked, standing to the right of the company, with Richard.

"No, I mean 'guards', as in three."

Two other skeletons had flanked them, one on each side. The chief roared the order to kill.


	7. Plantagenet

The skeleton on the right slashed its claws and caught Richard's blade, which parried the blow away. But the skeleton came again, this time grabbing the blade of the sword with its hand. Because of it having no flesh it felt no pain.

James hacked it deep into its ribs; the skeleton let out a wounded snarl but grabbed James' hilt and shrieked into his ever paling face. Richard gave it a roundhouse kick to the spine, making it stumble and release its grip on both, followed by a swift decapitation by the King. The skull flew many yards before rolling down a hill.

Catesby, Robert, Huddleston and Pilkington slammed their swords into the skeleton on the left, despite it showing considerable resistance and managing to graze Catesby's eyebrow. It screeched and eventually crumbled to the ground.

However, the chief was the most formidable; Ratcliffe and Stanley shielded the Doctor and Clara, but the chief had debalanced Stanley again and pushed him against Ratcliffe who fell backwards.

Clara's heart raced as her fingers began to tremble. Acting quickly before her fear consumed her like a statue, she swung her torch in a downwards motion against the chief. Surprisingly, it collided and he stumbled back slightly. But her next blow was far from lucky, as the chief grappled her torch and her hair and rasped as he thrust her back. Clara let out a cry and her legs gave way.

"Get away from her!" the Doctor snarled. He had swept up Stanley's sword and was wrestling with the chief by leaping on his back like a lion on a buffalo. Before the Doctor could slash at his neck as his rage commanded him, the chief's bony and iron strong grip flung the Doctor over and onto the ground.

Richard charged at the final skeleton and stabbed him deep while holding his sword from the outer of his palm. He growled as he followed with a side kick to the spine, which could be heard cracking. The chief screamed as he was fiercely slashed down and Richard slammed his boot hard on the skull.

The air was silent except for the drumming of all their hearts. Clara saw Richard's grey eyes scanning the vicinity with a sudden flame of vengeance. She saw his chest heaving with life and him adjusting his shoulders, his hair was wavy behind his ears, clearly having endured war and blood through the past few decades. The skeletons dared not rise up and feel his anger, and for the first time Clara truly felt scared of him.

But then the darkness in his eyes mellowed like a breeze after a hurricane. He put his sword in his left hand and knelt down, extending his right towards Clara.

"My Lady, are you hurt?" Richard asked softly. His mouth turned into a wistful smile.

Clara took his hand and climbed to her feet. "I'm all right... thank you," she responded. She suddenly realised that his eyes were still burning into her and his smile sparked her own to her lips.

"I'm very glad to hear that, truly."

Clara's cheeks began to flush with red and she found herself looking away.

"I'll check you over as soon as I can!" the Doctor exclaimed suddenly, touching Clara's shoulder.

Suddenly, the whispers began to simmer again and the company were reminded of the purpose of their mission.

"Doctor, Catesby, Stanely, follow me into the cave," Richard ordered. "My Lady, stay close to us. The rest of you, guard the outside and make sure no more skeletons come. If you do not hear from us in ten minutes, call for reinforcements!"

"Your Grace, is that wise?" James whispered leaning in close to the King. "We do not know what's down there; perhaps your Grace should wait here?"

"No James," Richard muttered back. "I will not ask my men to do what I would not do myself.

"Gather the torches, follow my lead!"

Richard took a torch and slipped through the mouth of the cave. For a second, it looked nothing extraordinary, it was a usual cave. The ground was like a dark and dusty hallway of a reasonable length.

The Doctor helped Clara down after he had jumped through, and Stanley and Catesby followed. After their eyes adjusted, it seemed like the hallway led to an illuminated room behind an open door.

A sapphire glow emitted from the walls of this chamber, as the company realised the blue crystals that were scattered all around, covered with grey cobwebs, but resonating ripples of light and ghostly whispers. These crystals embossed a kite shaped table that was in the centre of this room, like an altar of sacrifice.

The Doctor began scanning this room with his torch and sonic screwdriver. Clara felt an uneasy feeling which was almost like someone was about to pry into her heart, like someone was forcing her way back to the day that she got the dreaded phone call telling her that her Mum was dead. She had to bite her tongue and clench her fists to hold back the tears that were yearning to come.

Richard had stopped dead in his tracks and lowered his sword like a walking stick to the ground, his face turned away from his company.

"Fight it, people!" the Doctor ordered abruptly. "Fight it, it's an age old trick to manipulate your minds, to entice you, it's not REAL!" he roared.

"These blue crystals, they need to be pried out and bagged, they're transmitting a cognitive channel between our brain and hearts, they're projecting people we love and have lost to trap us," the Doctor continued. "I need to have them analysed as soon as possible. Stanley, Catesby, step away! Do not look directly into them!"

The two jumped back, they too had been moved to enticement by the crystals, there was something about them that seemed to call out to a person's soul, promising something great yet very heavy in return.

"Summon the others!" Richard commanded. "Bring a knife for each, and for Doctor."

"Yes, your Grace," Stanley obliged.

Richard drew a dagger that was single edged and slightly curved like a miniature Arabian scimitar, and began decapitated the crystals from their stumps.

Within minutes, the Harringtons, Ratcliffe, Huddleston and Pilkington had descended with Francis, Brackenbury and a number of others. Richard repeated the order and they all began cutting away at the crystals and sneaking them in their bags.

Clara vigilantly scanned the chamber, which seemed like an ancient crypt of some sort, hoping that the cursed of this place wouldn't seek revenge upon what they saw as a grave robbery. The three skeletons had in all fairness been too easy, there had to be more.

The ghostly hisses weakened to murmurs, to echoes, as each crystal was removed, until it all faded like a storm and silence fell.

For a moment, they all held their breaths, and the only sound was the flickering of the flame on the torch.

A high and shrill squawk killed the silence, like a bird of prey sweeping for the kill. The party jumped, and Pilkington almost dropped his torch.

"Good Lord, where's that coming from?" Francis yelled. The bird, or whatever was making that sound, squawked again, as if to answer.

Clara followed the sound and pointed her torch to a hollow opening in one of the walls. "Over here!" she called, and the Doctor was the first to follow over.

His eyes widened in both surprise and pleasantness. "Oh, hello old chap!"

There sat, a beautiful falcon, very small. It's feathers were meant to be a mixture of white and light grey, with a green coated head for the top part; however, the dust and debris had jaded that to a dirty grey. It's right wing was significantly higher than the left, which appeared to be shriveled- clearly broken

"Here we are, come on, boy," the Doctor beckoned. But the falcon just gave a painful cry and tried to get away.

"Ssssshhhh," Clara said and began kissing her teeth and beckoning with her clicking fingers. "Hey, it's OK, come out, I'm not going to hurt you." Slowly, the falcon stepped forward, until the tips of Clara's fingers were stroking his head and he let out a yawn of relief, before allowing himself to be scooped up gently by her.

"My dad took me falconeering a couple of times," Clara explained to the awed onlookers.

"Excellent work!" the Doctor commented, running his sonic device over the falcon. "Hmmmmm... rare breed of peregrine, broken left wing..."

"Can you treat him?" Richard asked suddenly, gazing into the eyes of this wounded bird that had been fettered in this dark prison for so long, yet it was alive.

"I think so," the Doctor said. "But first we need to give him a name. Clara, any ideas?"

"Umm..." Clara looked towards the Doctor, then at Richard. As if it was meant to be, the name rolled off her tongue like a barrel off a slope. "Plantagenet."

Richard's mouth twitched into a flattered smile. "Yes, I suppose that is a very fine name, indeed."

"Don't touch those!" the Doctor snapped suddenly. A couple of soldiers jumped back from the sack. "These are not safe, they have been causing a psychoteleconective wave into Princess Lizzie's mind and I need to find out why! I can only do that back at Westminster, with my TARDIS and without you lot being so fascinated by these things like a bunch of rascals, that you can't seem to control your impulses to grab something just because it's shiny!"

"Thank you, Doctor," Richard sighed. "Do not touch any of the crystals until Doctor has given you permission to!"

With that, they all ascended their way out of the cave. The first thing they noticed was that the clouds had bowed out for a glowing sun in a full splendour, despite the day being still just as chilly as when they had set out a few days ago. The second was the absence of painful whispers. Thirdly, as their eyes adjusted to the light, Elizabeth Plantagenet was treading on the earth, with a relieved smile on her face. No pained headache or terror, like she was free from a cage.

"I take it you're feeling much better?" Richard asked, once they had reached the hill where his niece was. Bess nodded, before throwing her arms around Clara, who was pleasantly surprised but hugged back.

"Thank you," Bess whispered.

"What for?"

"For helping me." Bess pulled back and faced Richard. "Thank you, Uncle and all of you!"

The men nodded and the King grinned but waved his hand in quasi-dismissal. "It was nothing; I promised to help you, didn't I? Besides, don't thank me yet. Let's wait until we know what those crystals are and we're sure that you're mind is safe, shall we?" Richard flicked a finger over her chin as if she was a little girl. Clara could see Bess go red, so she tactfully looked away.

The bags which held the crystals only amounted to three in total. Robert Harrington held one, Catesby held the other, while James and Thomas Stanley eyed the final like tigers on a weakened prey.

"I'll get this-" Stanley began, putting his gloved hand on the bag.

"No, you're fine, I will," James responded quickly, gripping with both hands. Stanley scoffed, but released his hold.

"Very well, Harrington," Stanley said. "I will give you this little 'victory' then!"

James' veins on his neck began constricting and his fists began clenching. Francis' hand fell amicably but wisely on James' shoulder.

"James, he's trying to rile you up, it's what he does," Francis reminded. "Don't give him the satisfaction." He mounted his steed, while the former nodded following suite.

The Doctor helped Clara do the same before mounting his own.

They briskly followed the road back to Westminster- Richard and Ratcliffe, with Bess at the front, they were engaging in merry conversation; Stanley, Brackenbury and Catesby rode behind; the Harrintons followed silently, Francis and Huddleston flanking them and appearing to whisper something reassuringly. Clara, with Plantagenet, rode with the Doctor, who appeared not to have noticed her through his big frown.

"Hey," Clara whispered, nudging him from his reverie.

"Hey, Clara! You were wondering why Stanley and the Harringtons have a problem with each other?" he muttered.

Clara chuckled. "Yeah, that too."

"I'll tell you more, once we get back to Westminster," the Doctor said. "It's a little sensitive and gossiping in front of your subject isn't good."

"I was actually kind of wondering how you were," Clara said. "You're not happy with the crystals are you?"

"No, I'm not," the Doctor replied. "When I scanned them with my sonic screwdriver, there was a peculiar reading that came up. It seems like the spirit world is a gateway from these crystals."

"You mean like... ghosts?" Clara probed. "As in not like Kemi, or someone, from a pocket universe, you mean actual ghosts or people that have died?" She didn't like to admit fear, she preferred to call it intrigue or excitement, but her heart was madly racing and her skin becoming paler.

"Possibly," the Doctor muttered. "I'll only know for sure when I have it analysed, but that's not all that's odd."

"There's more?"

The Doctor nodded. "Much more. These crystals shouldn't even be here. I mean no human, not even witches or warlocks, could have the technology or knowledge to use them for what I think they're used for. These crystals aren't even from Earth."

Clara's back inflamed with goosebumps. She realised the gravity of what they had found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please review. By the way, Kemi was the woman they met in "Hide", she came from the pocket universe.
> 
> I know how the story is going to go and how it will end :(. I don't know exactly how many chapters there will be, but I think we are at least a third into the story and touching on the main plot! Anyone want to hazard a guess as to who's controlling these crystals, what the crystals can do or were intended for?


	8. A Treaty with Tudor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this is historical, but some is just artistic licence. The feud between the Harringtons and Stanleys was real, but I've given my interpretation of the tension. Whether they quarrelled over a banquet in 1485 is anyone's guess.
> 
> By the way, Anne of Brittany is 15, rather than 8, in this story where she was born in 1470. As you're probably aware, there was no plan of or an actual marriage between Henry Tudor and Anne of Brittany (nor did Richard try to do such a thing), so we'll see what consequences that has in the next chapter called Macabrius.

"So, you mean these crystals are alien?" Clara whispered. "But then where are they from?"

Once again, the Doctor frowned. He hesitated before saying, "I don't know, but I'll be more sure once I have those crystals analysed. Then I can be completely sure."

Despite her curiosity, Clara decided not to probe further, because Plantagenet gave a sharp cry of discomfort. Clara smiled grimly. "Hush... you'll be fine," she whispered stroking him, but taking ever so much care not to touch his broken wing.

The company took a few days, but they did reach Westminster eventually. Clara couldn't wait to rush to her chamber and run herself a warm bath, despite Eve's insistence to allow the ladies in waiting to take care of that. But Clara wasn't having that. No, she politely dismissed them, and mulled over her thoughts as the warm water tickled her skin.

 

"Hold on in there, big fella!" the Doctor urged Plantagenet, as the falcon gave a low cry. He was perched on a stand, with his left wing secured in a device to aid healing. Richard had sought fit to hand over the TARDIS back to them, which relieved the Doctor, who knew that they had gained at least some of the King's trust.

Right now, the Doctor was scanning one of the crystals and storing different samples in incubators and vigorously running tests to cross match these crystals with those on the TARDIS database.

The Old Girl was being quite reluctant, and humming evasively, as if trying to protect him. But he got quite frustrated and angrily demanded the truth, until the screen flagged up the answer.

"That's impossible!" the Doctor hissed. It had to be, because the screen before him claimed that these were Cryastium Spiritas- crystals that could, in theory, be used to break down the barriers between the dead and the living world, to commune with those past and to even raise armies as a ruthless necromancer. But the screen glowed with a majestic red orb that denoted the origin of these Cryastium- Gallifrey.

The Doctor held his breath for so long that even his two hearts had to beg frantically.

"How can these come from Gallifrey?" he vented. "Oh no..." He pulled back and did a 360 degrees turn. "These crystals were like a bridge between this world and the spirit one..." He recalled Rassilon's face vividly, the hatred and silent vow for vengeance did not need to be uttered.

The Doctor had prevented Rassilon and the Time Lords from returning, he had destroyed their lifeblood- a white point star, ruining their chances of surviving the bane of their own existence.

He had no choice, if they lived, they would have enslaved the whole universe, where they would exist as supreme beings of mentality alone. He had to send them back, he had to end the Time War, he had to push that red button and all those people...

The Doctor gasped for air as a hand touched his shoulder, he jumped back defensively.

"Doctor!" Clara cried, as his hands curled into fists. "It's me! Doctor, tell me what's happened to you!"

The Doctor's skin was pale and sweaty, which made his hair cling to his forehead. He exhaled deeply and closed his eyes, and his burdens eased as Clara's hand rested on arm. He opened his eyes to see her concerned look, which flickered into a hopeful smile when he grinned.

It took only a few minutes for Clara to get hold of two bottles of Coke, which tasted a welcome relief from the ale and wine that was thrust upon them for the past few days. Eventually, Clara's body had got sick of the constant free drinks; she wondered whether it was too late to set up an alcoholics anonymous group in the Middle Ages.

Clara listened attentively as the Doctor explained to her what he had found and what he suspected, as he regaled how Rassilon had used the Master to try escape the Time War and how the Doctor (or at least his tenth incarnation) had sent him back by destroying the white point star, which was probably the prototype of the Cryastium.

"But that means that Time Lords are behind this?" Clara quizzed. "So why haven't they done anything until now?"

The Doctor paused for a while, fidgeting with his sonic screwdriver, before his usual smile ignited. "Now THAT, Clara Oswald is a really good question!" he announced, jumping to his feet. "If Rassilon is indeed behind this, then he has been unbelievably patient, which is so unlike him.

"In theory, the man in Bess' dreams could be the Master, who fits the bill perfectly: callous, narcissistic and utterly mad, but there's something missing... the two roses and the blue box, maybe they're somewhat linked to him.

"If he's been using the Cryastium to communicate with this side, maybe if I can work out the spirit code to penetrate and manipulate these weasels and communicate with him!" He rushed to hug her and she jubilantly returned it.

"Great!" Clara grinned proudly. "Try it!"

"Well, it's going to take a while," the Doctor replied, his jubilation dropping slightly.

"Oh."

"Yeah, but did you have something to tell me?"

Clara looked stunned for a moment, before nodding. "I do, yes! Bess slept soundly last night!"

"That is good news, she used to have nightmares constantly, didn't she?"

Clara nodded.

"So, looks like we've cured the symptoms!" the Doctor said.

"But you want to find the cause?" Clara asked.

"Don't you?" the Doctor said teasingly. "Unless, of course, you want to see the tennis match? Or do you want to stay here and bide our time with the intrigues of Richard's Court?"

Clara pondered, despite her mind being made up. Tennis was relatively safe, but the Court was dangerous with men like Stanley and Brackenbury in close proximity of finding the truth behind the Earl of Gallifrey and Dame Clara Oswald. The Court was full of people with a limited sense of hygiene and the surroundings were dark, dingy and dirty by modern standards; any sweat shed and body odour emitted at the tennis match would be washed with warm and soapy water.

"Tennis can wait," Clara grinned.

 

The slow yet passionate melody of a violin resonated from the Great Hall, where porters bustled past the waiting guests to arrange the tables. It was a pleasant evening outside in mid May 1485, the rays of the sun shone cordially on the grounds and bailies of Westminster.

Bess Plantagenet had gone a week without any bad dreams and Richard saw this as progress, as good reason for a banquet. From across the nation, lords and ladies were invited to dine in honour of the King and his niece.

"He seems suspiciously happy, don't you think?" Cecily, Bess' sister, said referring to Richard. Sure enough, he was smiling in a way he had not for a long time.

Bess, Cecily and Clara stood by their chairs at their table, having escorted each other to the hall. Bess wore a yellow dress, to compliment her golden hair and blue eyes; Cecily's green went well with her dark blonde curls; and Clara's dark brown hair went hand in hand with her navy dress, which Bess, Cecily and Faye had to help as Clara was still not used to all the intricate medieval dresses, some of which did not even fit her without there being a danger of strangulation.

Cecily Plantagenet was a little louder and more sly, in a lighthearted way, than Bess, despite being sixteen- two years junior to her sister, but Clara found her approachable and nice enough. However, Cecily had teased Bess so much ever since they had been reunited a week ago, after apparent separation, which neither of the girls seemed eager to discuss.

As they were getting prepared for tonight, Clara saw that Bess had got her revenge, when she suddenly mentioned that Ralphie was going to be here tonight, causing Cecily to freeze and turn deep pink.

"Ralphie" turned out to be a glamorously dressed, yet quite camp young man, with a red doublet and pink collar- Ralph Scrope, Baron Upsall. He sat in between the Doctor, who had exchanged his jacket for a grey doublet, and a floppy brown haired young man in his early twenties. This man had introduced himself as Jack de la Pole, as Bess' cousin, and given her a cream coloured shawl as a present.

Next to Francis sat a middle aged man who was starting to bald, but was fairly handsome for his age, who had also come to enquire Bess about her health and well being- John Howard, Duke of Norfolk.

Finally it was time for Richard to offer a toast to Bess and her health, while the hall followed, before indulging in their roast chicken, potatoes with wine or Coke, which Clara had smuggled in a small container. After the feast, the tables were ushered away, as the guests rose for a complimentary drinks reception.

A merry looking Doctor caught up with Clara, who stood by a hearth.

"Ha-hey! How is my lovely today-hay?" he chirped and swayed.

"Blimey, how much have you had, Chin Boy?" Clara laughed, moving to steady him.

"Me? Not much, but it works in fooling people to believe that you're incapable of remembering what they might say."

Clara's eyes widened in shock, relief and amusement. Before she could ask why he would want to do that, her eyes darted to James Harrington and William Stanley almost trying to squeeze through the hall doorway at the same time, but stopping abruptly and giving one another a long dirty look, before beckoning the other to go.

"You said you would tell me why the Harringtons and Stanleys don't like each other," Clara probed.

"Ah yes!" the Doctor said. "Hornby Castle."

"Hornby Castle?" Clara said uncertainly. "One castle is such a contentious thing between two feudal families?"

"Not just any old castle," the Doctor whispered excitedly. "At the Battle of Wakefield, in 1460, Richard's father and namesake, the Duke of York, was killed. But so were Thomas Harrington and his son John, who was the brother of James and Robert.

"John had left two young daughters and Hornby Castle, and Stanley wanted to make them his wards and marry them into his family, so he could have Hornby Castle."

"He what?" Clara cried a little too loudly. Howard and Ratcliffe had turned to look at them, but she did not care- her mind was raging. Just when she thought that Stanley, with his lustful and gawking eyes, could not get worse he had done exactly that. He had been eyeing Cecily, Bess and her up this evening, making them all feel uncomfortable rather than flattered, some might have excused that as silently complimenting, but there was something about his eyes that betrayed an uneasy truth.

"Luckily, James argued that his brother had died first and he not his nieces held Hornby. He took custody of the girls and Hornby Castle, refusing entry to Stanley. King Edward IV knew that Stanley commanded many men and based on Stanley's word against James', concluded that Thomas Harrington had died before John and Hornby and Anne and Beth Harrington were wards of Thomas Stanley.

"But James refused to yield Hornby and his nieces! After Warwick's rebellion Edward, having more important matters to attend to, made Richard forester of Amounderness, Blackburn and Bowland, who appointed James Harrington as deputy forester of Bowland; all were significant regions near Hornby.

"Stanley knew he had to take Hornby and fast, so he ordered a state of the art cannon to be brought to destroy the fortifications of Hornby! But just as he was about to order fire, a warrant arrived for him commanding him to stand down. This warrant was signed by Richard Gloucester.

"Eventually, Edward insisted that Hornby and the girls be given to Stanley and the Harringtons were forced to surrender, but were given the castles of Farleton and Brierly."

"What happened to the girls?" Clara asked after a pause, letting the information sink in.

"Married off to Edward Stanley and John Stanley respectively!" Robert answered coldly. Clara flushed with shock as she realised that the hall had been silently listening to the Doctor regale this story. The air was tense, making her heart beat fast, horrified at what she might be about to cause.

"In accordance with our rights!" announced a young mousy brown haired youth with a beard; Clara remembered that he was George Stanley, son of Thomas.

"Your rights, my behind!" Robert spat.

"Shut it, you twerp! Twelve years and you still can't stop crying!" jeered William Stanley.

The hall gasped, as Robert's face burned with rage, as he drew his sword and charged at Bill Stanley, who drew his and met with a parry. The hall erupted into shouts and curses.

George drew his sword and would have sliced Robert, had Jack de la Pole not physically pushed him back and restrained him. Ratcliffe and Francis pulled back Robert, who was screaming obscenities; Brackenbury and Howard disarmed Stanley, demanding that he stop struggling.

"Ralph, for Christ's sake, get Uncle!" Cecily was yelling, and Clara realised that Richard was nowhere to be found.

"I don't know where he is!" Ralph retorted. "It's not like I told them to fight!"

Cecily let out an angry snarl and stormed out of the hall, but Ralph realised what he had just done and ran after her pleadingly.

To the side, there were two people- one older and middle aged man and the other younger and blonder man; they stood lazily by the side, were laughing and toasting with their goblets of wine, as if this was a sporting event.

As soon as Jack released George, it became evident that this was a mistake, as the latter pushed past and managed to punch a restrained Robert Harrington in the stomach.

"Stand down, Strange!" Brackenbury ordered, referring to George's barony. His growls caused George to freeze, which allowed time for Jack to tackle him to the ground from behind.

Clara turned to see Bess shaking in fear, realising how close they had come to bloodshed, but the voice that boomed after caused them all to jump.

"What, in God's name, is going on?" Richard bellowed. He was flanked by James Harrington, Thomas Stanley and William Catesby; Ralph and Cecily followed him.

Brackenbury immediately knelt before him, the others followed, but Richard shook his head.

"On your feet! And tell me why members of my Court have decided to have a tavern brawl!" Richard roared.

"It's my fault, your Grace," Clara confessed. The hall stared at her in disbelief, which Richard, Bess and the Doctor shared.

"No, your Grace, the fault is mine," the Doctor corrected. "I was telling her the story of Hornby Castle."

Richard sighed and looked as if he wanted nothing more than to bash his head against a wall; James and Thomas flashed some controlled anger in their eyes; Francis shook his head disapprovingly. The blonde haired man by the side let out a giggle, which earned him the poisoned arrow grey of Richard's eyes to impale him.

"Do you find this funny, Dorset?" the King demanded. Dorset immediately flushed and shook his head.

"Now, if you could all return to your business, I want to have a word with my lords," Richard said evenly, yet the graveness and authority was there. "Try not to hurt each other while I'm not here!" He clicked his fingers at the Doctor and Clara, beckoning them to follow him, the Harringtons, Catesby and the Stanleys to a study nearby and seated them all down.

"I have arranged tonight to toast my niece's health," Richard began evenly. "Not to have grown men brawl as if this was a drunkard's brothel, or for someone to regale this story as if it some classic legend- it's not, it is a real life dispute that people feel dangerously strong about." His eyes blazed both the Doctor and Clara, making them grow red with embarassment.

"Awfully sorry, your Grace," the Doctor replied. Clara wanted to affirm, but the words caught in her throat.

"It's quite all right," Richard said; a hint of a smile overcame him, but it faded as he observed the Harrington's, who had worn this grievance on their sleeves, who looked at the Stanleys with complete disdain, and the Stanleys looked back with nothing short of contempt.

In all honesty, he had complete sympathy for the Harringtons. Regardless of who died first, Richard only tolerated the Stanleys because of the powerbase they brought, a powerbase he needed to defeat the pretender that was plotting against him from Brittany. Edward must have been drunk out of his wits when he gave wardship of little Anne and Beth to the Stanleys, who were notorious for only fighting for the one who would definitely win and give them the most gold. Had it been up to Richard, he would have given wardship to James. But the girls were now in their late teens. What was he supposed to do now- demand that they divorce their husbands?

"All right?" Bill spat. "You tell these nosy-"

"I'm talking now!" Richard snapped. "I know you have very strong feelings about this issue, but no matter what you believe or what I believe, my brother made the decision twelve years ago. Right now, I need you all to stop trying to kill each other, because right now we need to stand together, because in some Godforsaken part of France, a French-Welsh-Brittany traitor is planning to bleed this country dry and make himself King of England. We do not need you to dig up old wounds now."

The Harringtons nodded solemnly yet reluctantly, but the Stanleys avoided eye contact altogether.

"Can I trust you, James and Thomas, to lead by example in moving forwards?" Richard beseeched.

"Absolutely, your Grace," James said.

"I serve to please," said the older Stanley.

"Good," Richard nodded. "Now, in the next few weeks, I intend to invite the Portuguese Ambassador to Westminster- no mishaps!

"Very well, you may leave."

Richard beckoned Clara and the Doctor to walk with him, as the room was dismissed. He offered Clara his arm, which she took.

"Have you ever seen war?" Richard asked suddenly.

"Many," the Doctor replied curtly.

"Sometimes I prefer war to this," Richard said wearily.

"At least you can survive this, your Grace, war isn't so certain," Clara reminded.

"Maybe," he murmured after taking a deep and solemn breath, avoiding eye contact with her. Clara wondered whether she had upset him with her words.

"What do you think of Ralph Scrope?" he asked suddenly.

Clara was stumped at first, but then a smile crept over her as she realised why Richard was asking. "He seems very genuine, friendly enough. I think..."

"When we get to the Great Hall, watch how he reacts with Cecily."

Sure enough, at the Hall, Ralph was talking in a rather high voice to Cecily, about whether she was angry at him that this whole incident had shaken Bess close to tears.

"No, no, of course not," Cecily replied, touching his shoulder. "It's not your fault, I'm sorry for shouting at you earlier, I didn't mean it."

"I know," Ralph replied, visibly delighted.

"Well, Lady Rivers gave my nieces over to me, but not for free," Richard grinned. "I think now I can start fulfilling my end of the bargain."

"To get them married?"

"Yes, to gentlemen," Richard responded, seating Clara on a chair and releasing their arms.

"But what about Bess?"

"I'm still working on that," Richard said. "She is still technically betrothed to Henry Tudor- not my doing- as you can guess, I don't approve!"

"I think I have a way around that!" the Doctor said suddenly, after an unbelievably long reverie.

"You do?" Richard asked. "Well, let's hear it?"

The Doctor gave a large grin. "This will grant you peace, stability and hopefully a very long reign, if this works! If not, then the war will just go on!

"Richard, you can make a deal with Tudor- what if he were to give up his claim to the throne, the County of Richmond and his desire to marry Bess for someone more local?"

"Who would that be?" Richard said.

"Anne of Brittany!" the Doctor announced. "She is nearing majority, she needs a husband, and Tudor can become Duke of Brittany."

Richard gaped at him with wide eyes.

"But I will have to provide a dowry or some sponsorship?" Richard probed.

"Yes, but it will bring peace and get Tudor off your back for good!" the Doctor implored. "Didn't it feel good making peace between the Stanleys and Harringtons? Imagine what an accomplishment this could be?"

Richard sighed and considered for a moment. "Actually, when you put it like that it doesn't sound so crazy anymore." He yawned. "I think I will need to sleep on this, I think we could all do with some sleep, so I shall retrie us soon. Excuse me." He strode over to where Bess was sat, she smiled weakly at him.

"Doctor, what was that about?" Clara said. "Did you create a fight between Robert and the Stanleys on purpose." Her tone was even, but even the Doctor could sense frustration.

"Clara, I know how this looks, but if there was a real risk that they would actually kill each other, I wouldn't have done it," the Doctor whispered. "Do you understand?"

Clara nodded. "I know, you wouldn't try and dabble in established history unless it was necessary. So tell me, why do you want this peace treaty with Tudor?"

The Doctor looked around to ensure that they were not being overheard. "Two reasons really. One: peace is a good thing; two: do you remember when I told you Ratcliffe thought that Tudor had something to do with Bess' dreams?"

"You think he does?"

"Call it a hunch, but yes, I think he may be linked somewhat.

"Oh look, Northumberland is about to give the loyal toast!"

The hall fell silent and stood, as the middle aged man that had been laughing with Dorset tapped his goblet with a spoon.

"My Lords and Ladies, Princess Elizabeth, citizens of the realm!" Northumberland's voice projected. "His Grace King Richard, third of his name since the Norman Conquest!"

The hall flooded with rounds of "His Grace King Richard!", which preceded the toast.

A deep knot tied in Clara's stomach, but she couldn't point out why so- maybe it was the heaviness of the roast chicken, potatoes and cheese filled bread. Maybe it was the nervousness of what was to come- something told her that history was about to shift like a free tectonic plate, whose tremors would ripple a quake to shake city after city. When the volcano would erupt, everything could change; all this would be triggered by a visit to Tudor in France.

Clara had no idea how absolutely right she was.


	9. Macabrius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about history. This whole chapter is a deviation/creative licence, so much so that I've included the statue of the Burghers of Calais (which wasn't even erected until the 19th century) because I think they fitted with the whole scene of the chapter. During the 100 year War, Edward III of England had Calais under siege and the city was starving. He agreed to lift the siege if six people would come out to surrender the city, the keys and themselves. Six people volunteered for what seemed like certain death, but they were spared and the siege was also lifted. In Calais and Westminster a statue of the six stands to commemorate what they did.
> 
>  
> 
> This is a truly action packed chapter for you all, just so you know!

"This is madness," Francis said slowly. "We can't do this! This man allied himself with Buckingham and the Woodvilles to overthrow you! And now you're paying for his dowry?"

"Yes, Francis, I'm well aware of what he did," Richard replied evenly. The solar was filled with them sat around a table, discussing the Doctor's proposal. Richard was at its head, flanked by Francis, Ratcliffe and the Harringtons. Clara, who Richard had insisted to be allowed to sit in to the surprise of many, was seated next to the Doctor and Dorset and they crucially assisted in ensuring that the Stanleys and Harringtons were not sat directly opposite each other.

William Catesby and Thomas Stanley seemed a little more reserved than usual- Catesby's eyes were accompanied by dark patches, and Stanley replaced his usual sarcastic tone with a cold and ponderous mask, by stroking his beard continuously.

"I'm afraid I have real concerns about this," James admitted. "Who's to say Tudor will accept those terms or not renege on this promise, once he becomes Duke of Brittany? In that case, we would have given him an army to invade us with!" Murmurs of assent welcomed his words, but John Howard had an answer.

"But if he were to go back on a publically agreed treaty, how much support would he really have? He'd make a laughing stock out of himself."

"If he has enough gold or enough ass lickers, he would have all the support he would need," Stanley said, gesturing money.

"Then surely we can face him with the moral high ground?" the Doctor asked.

"I think we'll need a bit more than that, if I may say so, my Lord Gallifrey," Ratcliffe scoffed slightly.

"I don't think he'll risk that," Richard declared. He leaned forward in his chair and smiled. "Tudor is a novice to war and battles, his campaign with Buckingham failed, he was kicked out to France; if we do this, we'll be helping and humbling him, his future subjects will see him being helped by us- his sworn enemies, if he breaks truce it will make him seem pathetic, two-faced and desperately greedy.

"No one will support him, and he'll be out of our lives for good!" He turned to Catesby to ask him what his advice was.

"That... could work!" Catesby replied, startled.

"Are you all right, Will?" Richard probed.

"Very well, your Grace!" Catesby said.

Richard gave him a long look but said nothing. "Very well, I plan to petition Henry Tudor to publically surrender the county of Richmond and his claim to this throne; in return, I will endorse his petition to marry Anne of Brittany and pay for one-quarter of the dowry."

The council nodded in deferential assent.

"You will need ambassadors, your Grace," Francis reminded. "Allow me the honour, if it pleases you."

Richard chuckled. "I am grateful for your offer, my Lord Lovell, but I have other things to occupy you with.

"Doctor, Lady Clara, as this was your idea, I would like you to do this. Sir James

Harrington, I would like you to lead them."

"I would be delighted to," James smiled.

"Thomas Grey!" Richard called.

Dorset jumped slightly. "Yes...? Your Grace!" he added quickly. The whole room seemed to hold its breath, questioning whether Richard was about to do what he looked like he was about to do.

"Are you able to be a competent and faithful servant of my Court?" Richard asked. Obviously, Grey could only reply in the affirmative.

"Good, then I believe you have much to learn from Sir James, Lord Gallifrey and Lady Clara."

Grey's nostrils flared for a split moment when a snicker of "learn from a woman!" came from one of the Stanleys. However, it quickly surpassed to make way for a smile. "Of course, your Grace, I would be honoured."

"Very well, the four of you are to go to Tudor and put forward my terms before him," Richard said. "If he wishes to negotiate or put forward other terms, you are to write to me. That is my command." He dismissed them and rose, before the others rose with a bow. "I will make arrangements for a ship to take you to Calais, which is where Tudor is staying, or so my sources tell me."

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced- I'm Thomas Grey, Marquess of Dorset, and I believe you have met my mother- Elizabeth Woodville?" The young man offered Clara his arm once they had exited the solar. "I think it would be best if we took some time to know each other. Will you walk with me?"

Clara paused to study him for a while. Grey had a deep and well spoken voice, but there seemed to be a trace of casual scorn behind it. Apart from this and his laughter last night when the Stanleys and Harrington almost drew blood, Grey seemed OK. She glanced at the Doctor, who was talking to James.

"Go on, I have something to talk to James about," the Doctor urged.

Clara smiled. "Of course, Lord Grey!" She took his arm and walked until they were out of earshot.

"Was that your husband?" Grey asked abruptly.

"What?" Clara said. "No, not really."

"What do you mean, not really?" Grey demanded a little forcefully, before stepping back apologetically. "Forgive me, I wasn't thinking."

"That's quite all right," Clara said evenly. "I have a feeling that there is something specific you wanted to ask me about. What do you want to know?"

Grey smiled, and for the first time his blue eyes emitted a genuinely friendly invitation. "Have you ever sailed before?"

"I have," Clara nodded. On air, she wanted to add.

"That is impressive," Grey conceded. "But have you sailed into a foreign country to cut a deal like this?"

Clara had to say that she had not.

"Well, it's far from easy. I have been the son of a supposed traitor, before being the stepson of a King, my family and I were rebranded as traitors when Warwick siezed control. My uncle and grandfather were beheaded after being captured by him."

"I'm so sorry!" Clara said.

"Don't be. I have tasted war and take it from me that that's where this thing could go and this is no placid journey to an exotic land."

"I never said it was!" Clara cried. She took a deep breath. "Is there something bothering you about this mission?"

"If this doesn't work, then you do realise that we'll get the blame?" Grey scoffed. "They won't take our heads, but our Beloved Sovereign would make a laughing stock out of us."

"Richard wouldn't do that!" Clara almost laughed. "Maybe you should think a little more positively."

"Spoken like a woman!" Grey laughed, disturbingly. "You'd swear they get more stupid yet pretend to know everything!"

Clara held her breath and slowly exhaled, her heart racing and blood boiling. Was this what he had wanted to tell her. "Have a nice day, sir!" Clara snapped, turning away.

"My Lady, wait!" Grey reached out to grab her wrist; his strength was fierce like a crocodile's jaw as it clamped around her hand.

Clara had to pull her right wrist with her weaker left, but managed to slip out of his grasp.

"My Lady, I'm so sorry, I behaved inappropriately!" Grey exclaimed. "Wait, listen to me- all I wanted to tell you is don't be fooled by the King's charms." He breathed and saw her eyes were firmly on him.

"What do you mean?" Clara asked cautiously.

"He isn't the honourable knight in shining armour he makes himself out to be," Grey whispered. He moved closer to her and she did not flinch away. "What I'm about to tell you is treason, but if risking my neck is what it takes to warn you then so be it.

"Before he became King, he was made Lord Protector. He was supposed to crown my half brother, Prince Edward, and meet with my brother Dick and Uncle Anthony to escort him to the Tower. Richard had Dick and Anthony beheaded."

Clara wanted to demand what was his game or whether he was actually telling the truth, but the words caught in her throat.

"I know," Grey smiled grimly. "He took Eddie and his brother Richie into the Tower of London and declared them bastards."

"Bess told me that Edward IV was already married when he married her mother," Clara said thoughtfully.

"Ah yes," Grey sighed. "Rumour has it that he took a shine on Bess and he was showering her with more than an uncle's love while his wife was ill and dying."

Clara wanted to slap him so hard at that moment. "Do you realise what you're saying about your own half sister?" Her eyes were sharp and poisonous now. Clara remembered how the matron had spoken to Bess and how much she wanted to punch her, but this was coming from Bess' own blood.

"I never said that they were true!" Grey retracted a step back. "Look, all I'm saying is that you should be careful and not believe the mask he puts on."

Clara inhaled deeply. The Richard she had seen was a skilled and chivalric warrior, a devoted uncle to Bess and Cecily and a just king. But he was shrouded in mystery, he was evasive with her when she confronted him over Megan and Ed; a robe of impatience and quiet fury clothed him. But what if he could be cold, ruthless and without mercy to his enemies too.

Soon a dreaded yet forgotten question came to her mind and her heart sank. It was her initial concern about Richard, but from what she had seen her fear was alleviated- until now.

"Your brothers... what happened to them?" Clara muttered.

"No one knows," Grey replied.

"Did he kill them?"

"I don't know," Grey said after a pause. "My mother doesn't seem to think so. They just disappeared. Maybe they were moved North... No one knows and no one asks!" Grey's voice broke for a split second and for the first time Clara felt pity for him. But her eyes had asked too much.

"Spare me your pity!" he spat. "Just keep your eyes open and your mind sharp!"

"I will!" Clara cried indignantly.

"Is everything all right?" the Doctor's voice called. James followed him, the midday sun reddening his brown hair.

"Fine," Clara and Grey said together.

Grey took his leave and excused himself at once.

Clara was busy tending to the metaphorical wounds that he had just inflicted, when the Doctor had to wave in her face.

"Hey Clara? I was just saying that the King has prepared a ship and crew for us to Calais!"

Clara nodded weakly, her belly was lead heavy with queasiness. She refused to believe that there was anything sinister between Richard and Bess, that was absolutely ridiculous. But her resolve was shaken and unsure of the King she was working for. Everything else, might have an explanation, but if he really was responsible for the deaths of two young boys then could anything atone for that? Even if he was not an evil man, in all respects but this one, nothing could let Clara look at the King in the same way.

But this journey was more for Bess' sake than anyone else's, if this could treat the cause of her nightmares and explain why Time Lord crystals were used to haunt Bess, then Clara would do her duty.

She forced a smile. "What's it called?"

"She's called Mia Anna, my Lady," James replied.

After the Doctor had some privacy with Clara, he asked her what was wrong? She told him what Grey had told her and how her previous concern came flooding back.

The Doctor listened intently with a faint smile on his face. "Why don't you ask him?"

"What?" Clara snapped. "Do you really think I could just walk up to him and ask him that?"

They were in the Western Hall, mooching around. In hindsight Clara realised how this was not a good place- high above the eaves stone gargoyles leaned over and colourful banners decorated the landings. Some draped so low that they provided ideal shelter for spies and eavesdroppers.

"Yes, you'll be surprised," the Doctor said. "Unless, a part of you is afraid at what the answers might be and you might find out?"

Clara held her breath and nodded slowly.

The Doctor edged closer and put two comforting hands on her shoulders, his eyes locking gently with hers. "Ask him when we get back from Calais, OK?"

Clara smiled weakly and sighed, reassured somewhat by his confidence. She nodded.

 

"Careful there!" Commander Dorian called out to Clara as she grimaced. A sailor on the Mia Anna had already retched into the sea, but despite the jolting and the sound of the sea slushing against their ship Clara refused to follow suite. She closed her eyes and took three deep breaths.

"Are you all right?" James said, standing next to her.

"Yeah, just a little..." Clara croaked. "Overwhelmed."

James smiled. "We'll be landing in Calais soon, you best get prepared." He nodded, touching her arm.

The ship was approaching near the docks, which stretched in a long thin line, like a bridge over an ancient chasm. Beyond which, the seagulls almost croaked a welcome into the city. The day was pleasant and this almost felt like a holiday under the French sun, but Clara knew that it wasn't.

The party disembarked from the ship and a courier flagged with a Red Dragon badge rode out towards them; he dismounted and knelt dutifully.

"Rise," James asked cautiously. "Do you have a message for us?"

"Yes, Monsieur, my Lord Tudor awaits your presence," he replied with a heavy French accent.

The party exchanged puzzled glances, for they were under the impression that Tudor didn't know about them yet. The plan was to stay in an inn for the night, write to Tudor seeking an audience. How could he know?

"You were not aware of this?" the courier said. "My Lord has known since yesterday. Would you like to follow me?"

"I suppose that makes things easier," Grey muttered.

"No it doesn't!" Clara hissed. James and the Doctor were both a little wary, but they turned back to look at her and their unsurprised faces told her that they had been thinking the same as her. How did he know they were coming? Did someone at Court tell him? If so, then who and how so without the King or anyone knowing?

James nodded and told the courier to wait a moment. He called Commander Dorian and asked for a few sailors to accompany them. Dorian looked a little reluctant but gave him seven, totalling their party at eleven. Most looked confused but Warren and Lawrence, the two most senior of the sailors seemed to understand what was going on. Lawrence had even made small talk with Clara and she quite liked him, for he laughed with her and was impressed with her drive to serve the Kingdom.

"Send word to me when you're ready," Dorian said, before leaving the party of eleven to ride off with the courier, who was called Jean Claude Bisset.

Bisset led them through a field that marked the outskirts of the city before reaching the cobbled backstreets where children begged for bread and apples. They eventually reached the centre promenade where Clara saw huge town houses, and an effigy of six men in robed with a rope around their necks and keys in their hands. She had only passed them momentarily when an ominous shudder escaped her shoulders.

Eventually, they reached a grand manor decorated with a wonderful French garden with beautifully pruned trees. They dismounted and were led to a Great Hall five men sat behind a broad rectangular table, they stopped all chattering and gazed at the newcomers.

"Please, be seated," the greyest one with a beard offered placidly. This was most likely Jasper Tudor.

As the four sat and the sailors stood behind them, Clara saw that the room was almost as lavish as the one in Westminster. There were numerous stained glass depictions, tapestries of lion hunts and perhaps a dozen bodyguards with glamorous clothes yet roughed up faces glared at them.

Next to Jasper Tudor's left was a very large and stout bald man, who truly seemed to know how to handle himself- John Cheney. Next to him was a man who Clara had been told was John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, but in exile. On the far right sat a dark moustached and skinny man called Edwin Netrin. But Clara's eyes lingered on the one nearest to Jasper Tudor, a man with red shoulder length hair and a goatee of a beard growing, with an expression as blank as ice- Henry Tudor.

"May we offer you some wine, my Lords?" Jasper offered. "And my Lady?"

"No, just milk should be fine," the Doctor responded, to which Clara and James assented. Grey insisted on wine.

"As you wish," Jasper said evenly, before giving the signal to a servant. But Henry Tudor's mouth twitched for a split second, for refusing wine verged on distrust.

"Very well, my Lords," James began. "I must admit, we were surprised that you knew we were coming."

"Sir James, Sir James," Jasper scoffed. "We not only know that you were coming but we also know why you came."

"You do?" the Doctor asked. "I think I know how."

"Well why don't you tell us what I'm thinking while you're at it?" Grey spat. "You don't scare me with your mind games!"

"Thomas, that's enough!" James snapped. "I am very sorry, my Lords.

"His Grace, King Richard of England, third of his name since the Norman Conquest wishes to assist you to become Duke of Brittany. He will provide financial assistance with a dowry for the hand of Anne of Brittany, who will soon be looking for a husband. In return, my Lord Henry you are asked to surrender the County of Richmond, any claim to the English throne and any intention to marry Princess Elizabeth Plantagenet."

As soon as he had stopped speaking, the Lancastrians in exile and their guards whispered amongst themselves. Oxford even swore and Jasper had to restrain him.

But for the first time, Henry Tudor opened his mouth to speak and all fell to a deathly silence. His voice was deep and fitting of a general.

"Leave us, all of you," he ordered. "I want to talk to these four alone."

"Henry, I don't think that's-" Jasper began.

"I insist. Uncle," Tudor said. He looked at John Cheney and gave a curt nod.

Lawrence strode to the door with his comrades and gave a cautious look at James, who beckoned him to go ahead. The Lancastrians and the sailors left following them and the doors fell shut.

 

Richard was dictating a reply to his scribe for a letter that Arturo Meduro, the Portuguese Ambassador, had sent him. He was to arrive within the fortnight.

"Your Grace, I have some grave news," Thomas Stanley said approaching him. William Catesby followed sheepishly behind, as if he had smelt some strong odour.

"About what exactly?" Richard probed.

Stanley sighed. "Your Grace won't like it, I'm afraid."

"If it is as grave as you say it is then I'd rather hear it!" Richard demanded coldly.

"Very well, our guests, Doctor and Lady Clara, they are frauds," Stanley said.

The air felt thick with tension. Richard leaned back in his chair. "Oh really? And what makes you think that?"

"I know so, your Grace. Numerically, which Earl of Gallifrey is Doctor?" Stanley asked. Richard pondered for a moment.

"I do not know, off of the top of my head," he conceded. "But I'm sure our records will enlighten us."

"I'm afraid they won't," Stanley countered sadly. "There never has been a county, duchy or even a barony in England by the name of Gallifrey. Am I wrong, Catesby?"

"It's true, I'm afraid," Catesby nodded. The room was filled in silence, except the flickering of a candle and a fire blazing in the hearth.

"Perhaps the county was initially created under a different name," Richard suggested, but his voice betrayed half-heartedness.

"Though possible, it's highly improbable," Catesby admitted to him.

"Even if you're finding excuses for Doctor, your Grace, you ought to watch out for Clara, you cannot excuse her, especially not after what I have to tell you.

"She claims to be a dame," Stanley continued. "But who conferred that honour on her? Was it you, your Grace?"

"I did not."

"We've checked the official documents and decrees- your brother didn't knight her. I remembered that we first saw her with a red rose, perhaps she had Lancastrian loyalties, so Mad King Henry may have been the one. But even he did not. Therefore, they have both been lying to you and are not who they say they are."

Richard was silent, his mind spinning and begging for answers. But they didn't come.

"I ask your Grace to allow me to arrest them and deliver the King's Justice on these traitors."

"The last person who was so eager to have me execute someone turned out to be an even worse traitor, Stanley," Richard reminded sharply. His mind was still demanding answers or at least an explanation, his blood was raging for being played, lied to and taken for a fool.

"Sire, you know I'm no Buckingham!" Stanley replied indignantly. "You know that!"

"Yes, but I also know how you prefer to wait to see who is more powerful and likely to serve your ends!" Richard shot back. "Since when do you seek an active role in these things, Stanley?"

"Your Grace, I merely wish to serve the realm!" Stanley exclaimed. "Catesby, am I lying?"

"No, your Grace, he's not," Catesby shook his head. "As much as I hate to admit it, I agree with Stanley. These people aren't who they say they are- though I'm not sure who the actually are."

"Are Dorset and Sir James Harrington in danger?" Richard quizzed.

"No, I do not believe so," Catesby said. "I don't believe they suspect that we know this."

Richard let out a deep sigh. "Very well, bring forth Sir Robert Brackenbury. Inform him that I shall ask him to place Doctor and Clara under arrest when they arrive back in England. They are not to be harmed and will be brought before me. Is that clear?"

 

"So your King feels that after being my mortal enemy he is going to help me get married? What is he, my father?" Tudor laughed.

"Does it matter?" Grey retorted.

"Thomas!" hissed Clara.

"Yes, Thomas, let the girl lead you by the leash on your cock!" Tudor taunted. Grey's face reddened with anger and his hand flew to his sword, he would have drawn it had James and the Doctor not restrained him.

"My Lord Henry, can we please not come to petty insults?" James beseeched. "This is an advantageous deal for all!"

"Do you really think so, Sir James?" Tudor scoffed.

"It's true, you'll become Duke in a country which you've spent most of your life, rather than an earl in a country you barely know," the Doctor reasoned.

Tudor gave a smile, and for a moment Clara thought that these volatile negotiations may have a peaceful outcome.

"Just how long do you think my life has been, Gallifrey?" Tudor spat. A chill erupted over the Doctor's spine. He remembered that distinct voice from Bess' dream, he remembered how it had even overpowered him.

"Who are you?!" the Doctor barked standing up. Tudor did the same, along with James, Clara and Grey.

"I am the one your nursemaid warned you about in her stories, I am the harnesser of power and greed. I have spent millennia gaining strength and preparing for war and to rule!"

Tudor cut open his doublet and shirt, he brandished the glowing mark that seemed to be burned into his chest- two triangles conjoined at the tip. The Doctor inhaled.

"Doctor, who is he?" Clara asked.

"His name is Ares Macabrius," the Doctor said queitly. "And he is a Time Lord."

"What in God's name is a Time Lord?" James demanded.

"Why don't you ask your friend?" Tudor, or Macabrius, cackled. "What you didn't know that he was one too?"

"All I know is Doctor is nothing like you, Sir!" James growled. "Am I to take it that you're rejecting His Grace's offer?"

"Oh no, I'm spitting on it, pissing on it, and then putting forward my own terms," Macabrius said. "Tell your King that I will sail soon, if he bows down to me, I will give him and all his potential heirs a nice hole to die in and people to bury them!"

James was on his feet, sword drawn. Macabrius was just as quick and their blades clashed deafeningly. Clara was pulled back by the Doctor, but Grey rushed ahead.

"Thomas, no, no! You don't know what you're fighting!"

"Tudor, Macabrius, or who ever you are, we have back up you do know that?" James snarled.

"Grey, how about you and Sir James do a little fencing with me?" Macabrius dared. Grey charged at Macabrius with a flurry of blows, but the latter parried each and every one of them, before shoving Grey into James.

Clara looked frantically at the Doctor, who appeared to be fiddling with his sonic screwdriver. "What're you doing? Shouldn't we call our men?"

Before the Doctor could reply, Grey was sent stumbling into them, a his nose bleeding and eyes blodshot.

Macabrius raised a hand and a red ball of flames began to grow from it. James took a deep breath, he had been getting sweaty and there was a graze on his right elbow, which happened to be his stronger side.

"Go on, I dare you!" Macabrius snarled.

"Clara call our men," James huffed. "He won't hurt you without me taking his head right off."

Slowly Clara moved towards the door, trembling and feeling almost naked without a sword or weapon. It would be all right, surely. She would call the sailors and they would be able to go back, their mission futile but lives intact.

Suddenly, Macabrius released the fire ball, it whizzed through the air faster than a bolt of a crossbow. The heat blazed and grew until it battered into hot ashes as it collided with James Harrington. He yelled in painful shock and was thrust off his feet, his sword clattering to the floor.

"James!" Clara screamed, stopping in her tracks. She longed to see if she was all right, but she knew she couldn't afford hesitation. The doors of the hall burst open, to her horror, the bodies of Lawrence and all the remaining sailors were flung in like ragdolls. A dozen Lancastrian soldiers marched in, followed by Jasper Tudor, John Cheney, Netrin and de Vere.

"Stay with me, Grey, I believe that is what your mother intended once," Macabrius said. "I could also teach you most of the manners you've been lacking."

"I'm not spending a minute longer with you!" Grey retorted. With immense speed, Macabrius had dashed towards Grey, catching him off guard. He sank his sword into Grey's thigh. The latter gave an agonising scream, as he tumbled to the floor gasping and cursing, on the verge of hot tears.

"I wasn't asking, my Lord Grey!"

Clara edged back towards the Doctor and James, who was lying unconscious. She felt his pulse and shallow breathing.

"Yes!" she thanked. He was still alive!

"Allow the Doctor to go back to England to warn Richard that I am coming!" Macabrius ordered. "Kill Sir James and the girl!"

"No!" Clara shouted. Her hands were sweating, as she saw a soldier with his sword drawn move towards her smirking. She jumped back from a slash before grabbing the nearest chair. Clara used all her might to thrust the legs of the chair into his face sending him down. The chair broke apart, but Clara swept up his blade instead. It felt heavy and awkward but it would have to do. A soldier stood over James and was nigh on sinking his spear in him. Clara threw her new sword at him, lodging it in his chainmailed side and sending him stumbling. She had to act quickly now, she dashed towards James and took up the spear and twirled it frantically.

"Doctor, help!" Clara cried, unable to see him from the gang of soldiers moving towards her in a phalanx formation, metres away from taking her. She was unable to see Thomas Grey, but could hear him crying out in pain.

Luckily, the glass window shattered, taking part of the wall with it. The hall convulsed, the soldiers fell back, as debris flew everywhere.

Clara coughed and felt tears of relief as she found herself glad to see the old cow, who had come to save them. She tried to move but realised that she had fallen and there was a tear at her skirt over the knee.

"Come on, in we go!" the Doctor was at her side, lifting her up to her feet, and heaving James into his arms. They reached the doors of the TARDIS, which fell shut behind them. Saving them, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid things will have to go south from here! The three have escaped but they still have to go back to Richard who now knows that they've been lying to him. If this was a Doctor Who series, the episode would end here I think.
> 
> Just so we're clear Macabrius is a Time Lord infecting Tudor's body. I'll explain his background later on. ;)


	10. Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, the Doctor and Clara must get back to England with the knowledge they have, about this Macabrius. But there a trap awaits them as there is a warrant for their arrest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can see the Tenth Doctor if you squint!

"Clara, reach into the console- get me a phial of golden stuff!" the Doctor ordered.

Clara didn't need telling twice; she had to hold on to the rails to avoid being thrown off her feet. Her nerves fought against her reserve, but she strove on and reached the compartment under the console. She took the phial that glowed, their beacon of hope, and gave it to the Doctor, who knelt over James Harrington.

The knight had a blackened hole where his heart should have been and his skin burned with the fire that had struck him. Sweat poured endlessly from his face, as his breathing became visibly more laboured.

"Here hold his head, by his temple, just like that," the Doctor ordered. Clara silently complied, feeling James' blood pulse fiercely, trying to keep him above the surface of death.

"These nanogenes will heal him, but they need a template to copy from," the Doctor explained pouring the golden molecules on the knight. Immediately they covered him, like a river flowing into an empty ravine, extending on to the base of Clara's palms. Her hands began to feel a heavy vibration that began heating her hands even more, emitting a sharp tremor of energy within her. She was about to cry out, but the feeling subsided as quickly as it came.

James Harrington gave a gasp of relief and twitched, before his breathing resumed at a steady pace. The wound on his chest began to heal and a golden circle rested upon it.

"He's safe?" Clara whispered, daring to hope.

"He is," the Doctor answered. "All he needs now is rest. Help me carry him?"

They gently lifted him up, before shifting him into one of the rooms in the TARDIS, laying him on the bed and covering him with the grey covers. To the ignorant, James Harrington looked like he was just resting after a normal days work.

"What was that?" Clara asked the Doctor, once they were back in the console room. The doors lay open and the Doctor was intently gazing into the midnight darkness of the galaxies that homed the stars that glowed and burned and fell towards planets with enough gravitational power.

"Who exactly is Ares Macabrius?"

The Doctor sighed. He walked over to where he kept their kettle and brewed tea for them both, before sitting on the steps. They both sipped before he began.

"Macabrius was an old Time Lord; he lived many thousands of years before my parents were born. At one point I believed, and there were some of my people who did believe, that he was a story made to frighten children into obedience.

"His infant son caught a terrible virus- the Volcane, and the Time Lords decided that all those infected needed to be quarantined and cured. Something happened though, maybe the medics were negligent or it was a failure of technology, or the fact that the virus was incurable, but they all died. Macabrius begged for these Cryastium to be able to raise his dead, but the Time Lords refused, saying that it would be too dangerous to play God. The Admiral even told him that these Cryastium would not give him what he wanted. They had been declared a failed project by the Time Lords, they were too dangerous to be used like we had seen in Chester. But perhaps they were useful enough to commune with the spirits of the other side if needed.

"Macabrius would have none of that, he declared war and tried to steal the Cryastium himself. He burned countries and raised armies to do his bidding. He managed to steal a few crystals but realised that the Admiral was right, he could not bring his son back. But by that time he was declared an enemy of Gallifrey who billions were terrified of, it was too late to turn back, so his new goal was to reign supreme- if the crystals could not give his son back, then perhaps they could give him an army and give him power, so nothing like this could happen again.

"At the Siege of Karkane, the Admiral defeated Macabrius, but failed to apprehend him, possibly because he was moved by pity. But Macabrius vanished, never to be seen again. He swore a vow to make his enemies suffer; legend is that he transcended into conscious matter and wanders the galaxies, latching on to the bodies of the ambitious and greedy."

"So that man wasn't Henry Tudor?" Clara asked.

"His body was, and to a certain extent his mind and actions were," the Doctor said. "Macabrius has to somewhat mirror the heart of his host and be accepted by them in the first place- he makes very tempting promises and if there is enough ambition inside a man, he will find it difficult to say no."

Clara frowned, this did not seem right. "Why would anyone let him in? Why would anyone want to be his puppet?"

The Doctor laughed. "He's devious and manipulative, he knows which triggers to push, pull and leave well alone. He is the equivalent of a professional magician- lots of very impressive tricks, but what you have to remember, Clara Oswald, is that that's all they are: an illusion of tricks and half truths."

There was a heavy plea in his eyes, and for one moment Clara thought that he was beseeching especially to her, trying to counsel and warn her.

"Rejecting him is both emotionally and physically painful, depending on how close you've let him come to your soul, " the Doctor continued. "You need a certain amount of purity in your heart. Between you and me, Clara, I don't trust myself to be able to."

"If anyone can resist him, Doctor, it's you," Clara said gently, placing a hand on his forearm. The Doctor was silent.

"What are we going to tell Richard?" Clara pondered.

"The truth," the Doctor replied. "That Tudor, as a puppet of Macabrius, rejected the treaty, kidnapped Thomas Grey, almost killed Sir James and is coming to England to fight you. By the way, he's a five thousand year old alien with alien technology, and he shares my heritage."

Under any other circumstances Clara would have burst into laughter, but right now she barely chuckled, despite trying to. She took a very deep breath, her heart beating with anticipation. A pit of dread grew in her stomach; after a long moment, the Doctor's arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her into a comforting hug.

"I know you're scared, Clara," the Doctor consoled. "But I promise you, everything will be OK."

Clara turned up to look at him, her eyes seeing the powerful sincerity in his pupils. She forced a smile. "I hope so."

"Right, so shall we head back?" the Doctor chirped, standing up.

"What about James?" Clara asked.

"Don't worry about him, he'll be up soon! We have loads to tell when we return, and no doubt Richard and his Court will have so much to sink in. I was hoping for a more cordial settlement, but at least we know what we're dealing with." His expression gravened. "You know what this means, don't you Clara?"

"It means war is coming," Clara replied just as gravely.

"Yes, unfortunately... but enough about that, shut the door!" The Doctor ordered. He pushed some levers on the console of the TARDIS. Suddenly, Clara braced herself as the time machine began spinning and jostling through the Vortex. It landed with a clean bump.

Even without looking out, the foreboding silence told her that they were back in Westminster. They carried James Harrington out and lay him in the bed of the Doctor's chambers. They called some of the grooms to give them orders that James was not to be disturbed and allowed to recuperate.

As soon as they had stepped out of the chambers and into the hallway, they walked in silence through the Western Courtyard to reach the Great Hall. The clock tower chimed in a long and heavy tone and the clouds gathered over them, as if to spectate over a fight.

Across the courtyard, five men at arms clad in helmets and silver chain mail approached them, spears at the ready. They were led unmistakably by Sir Robert Brackenbury.

"Halt!" he ordered. The blood in Clara's veins froze.

"Brackenbury, it's us, we need to see the King, we have important news for him!" the Doctor told him. The guard had surrounded the time travellers by forming a ring around them.

"Where is Sir James?" Brackenbury demanded. "And the Marquess of Dorset?"

"Sir James is in recovery," Clara said cautiously. "He was injured, and Thomas Grey has been captured." A spurt of boldness overcame her fear. "Sir Robert, do you want to tell us what's going on?"

"I have my orders, Lady Clara and my Lord Gallifrey," Brackenbury responded tersely. "I am to arrest you both for treason, and bring you before His Grace for questioning. Sieze them!"

 

The Great Hall was tense and full of people speaking in a hushed voice. At the head a table of three judges- William Catesby, John Howard and Thomas Stanley- overlooked them all. Beside them, King Richard III was dressed in black, from his infamous felt hat, to his doublet and robes. There was only an embossed chain of yellow stitched around the shoulders.

The two prisoners were escorted into the middle of the hall and Clara felt naked with all eyes burning into her, their voices whispering and gossiping about the supposed crime of her and the Doctor's. She could not look at Francis Lovell, Robert Harrington, Bess, Cecily or even Richard for the matter. A deep pit in her belly told her why she and the Doctor were here. She looked into his eyes, which silently twinkled and he nodded with a discreet smile.

She returned half a smile, breathing with relief. Perhaps the Doctor had a plan- a plan that would get them out of this mess.

The pair were settled into two wooden chairs, where they were directly made to face the King and his bench. Brackenbury and his men bowed and took leave with a nod from the King.

When the King spoke, his voice was cold but there was some anger present too. "I invited both of you into my Court, I entrusted you with the lives of some of my finest men. Now I find that you have been lying, lying about who you are. I would advise you not to lie again, because you do not know how much I already know. So, firstly, I ask you this: who are you?"

Clara opened her mouth, her lungs grasping for the air necessary to explain herself, but the words refused to come. Luckily, the Doctor had an answer prepared.

"I will tell you who we are, your Grace, and I will explain everything to you, because right now there is a lot that you have to understand. I am the Doctor, it's the name I chose when I took my vow."

"Which vow would that be?" Howard asked.

"Never cruel, never cowardly," the Doctor recited. "Never give up, never give in."

Clara turned inquisitively towards the Doctor; he had never talked to her about any vow he had taken.

"Your Grace will remember when he was young, newly made ward of the Ear of Warwick," the Doctor continued. "You were lost in the Yorkshire Moors, because your horse just ran away, and it was getting dark."

"Yes, I remember," Richard said tersely. "What of it? How does it explain who you are?"

"You better not play any games," Stanley reprimanded. "Remember this is no game, we have the authority to have you hanged."

Clara took a deep breath, but clenched her fists at Stanley discreetly. She hoped her fear didn't show, but it dawned on her that if they were outed it had to have involved Stanley in some way or another.

"You were approached by a tall brown haired man, who had a strange stripy doublet," the Doctor continued unfazed. "He offered you a ride back to Middleham Castle, you talked about many things, you even told him that he reminded you of your brother Edmund."

Richard's posture changed swiftly, he bolted up attentively glaring at the Doctor. But the whole hall, even Clara, was surprised.

"You have some cheek in mocking the King like that!" Stanley spat, but Richard waved him down.

"What else?"

The Doctor smiled warmly. "He told you that when you get lost again remember who you are, who you were, where you've been, what lessons you've learned and you will always find your back to where you're meant to be. That's not just for when you're physically lost, Dickon, he said."

Richard rose from his seat and marched towards the Doctor, his heavy boots striking the floor. "How... did you know that? How could you know that?" he hissed.

"Because that was me," the Doctor answered. "I am from Gallifrey, but it's not a county. It's a planet and I am a Time Lord, when I die I regenerate and I change."

"Witchcraft!" a spectator gasped. A round of cursing and shouting began, before Richard raised a hand to silence them all.

"It's not witchcraft. It's biological fact!" the Doctor corrected. "Right now, a five thousand year old Time Lord, called Macabrius, sits in the body of Henry Tudor and he wants your throne. He rejected your offer, he captured Thomas Grey, injured James Harrington- who we've managed to save. Macabrius or Tudor, or whatever you want to call him, is gathering an army to invade." He explained exactly how James and Grey had been overpowered and how their guard murdered.

Richard frowned grimly and took a step back before exhaling. "And what about you, Clara, who are you?"

"She's just a girl-" the Doctor began.

"I asked Clara, not you!" Richard snapped.

There was a dark look in his eyes that made Clara's throat go as dry as a desert. She swallowed and explained. " My name is Clara Oswald, I was born in the year 1989. I'm just someone who's graduated from university, your Grace."

"A woman at a university?" Stanley laughed, followed by dozens of men. Howard shot him a serious glare and Catesby just stared blankly.

"From when I come from yes!" Clara said defiantly. "I was helping out child minding for a friend called Angela Maitland, who died, so I chose to help her family out. That's when I met the Doctor. We travel sometimes in time and space, that's all. We were going to a tennis match between the Universities of York and Lancaster but we were brought here by our... vessel, because Bess needed our help.

"I'm sorry we lied about our rank or peerage, but we honestly don't care about these things, they mean nothing where I'm from!" Clara implored, looking at Richard, then Bess (who was sat in the gallery), before looking at John Howard- the only judge who seemed to be interested in what they were saying. "We don't want the Crown, titles or lands and we certainly aren't going to betray our friends because someone promises us more lands or prestige! Or because we simply think that's the way the wind is blowing!" Clara directed her eyes straight at Thomas Stanley and watched as his smirk disappeared into the depths of his face. He shot back to lean in his chair, as if stung by a bee. She couldn't help but feel proud at what had happened; she had spent some time reading up on him. She knew exactly what he was and how he functioned, how he would appear to serve all who were powerful but only when victory seemed likely for them would Stanley ever commit himself. In short, she enjoyed seeing him fidget uncomfortably, and he could not confront her without giving more attention and validity to her indirect accusation.

"So you are from the future?" Richard asked.

"Yes, your Grace."

"So tell me," Richard probed, his lips curled up to one side. "Does this war ever end? Who wins?"

Clara's heart began racing. She knew what happened at Bosworth.

"You'll never be able to trust any answer she gives," the Doctor came to her aid. "Anything other than saying that your Grace wins is treason under the law."

Richard laughed. "Yes, I suppose that was a bad question. Is there anything else you would like to add?" This time his expression hardened.

"No, your Grace," Clara said quietly.

"Then perhaps the bench may retire for their decision?" Richard suggested. The bench rose to their feet. Just then, the doors flew open.

"Go Sir, you're not well!" Brackenbury urged. People were gossiping in hushed voices, which grew louder as people realised who had come.

"James?" Robert exclaimed.

James Harrington was still in his nightshirt and had thrown on some breeches in a hurry, his hair was unkept and his sweat flowing heavy.

"My God, James!" Richard hurried over.

James dropped to his knees. "Your Grace, I beg you, these people are not your enemies, they saved my life. You have a more dangerous enemy in France!"

"I know, James," Richard muttered back, kneeling to hold his shoulders.

"You know?"

"Yes, they told me."

"T-then you c-can't, I mean shouldn't, execute them!" James pleaded.

"Lying to the King is treason, Harrington!" Stanley shouted. "They know too much about us!" He looked at Howard before his eyes rested on Catesby. "What do you think, Lord Chancellor?"

"I think... technically they are guilty of treason... subject to the King's mercy," Catesby said bashfully.

"They lied about their rank and nothing else," Howard said slightly annoyed. "That's hardly as bad as any type of treason any King in the history of our nation has seen."

"There'll be no need for the King's mercy," Richard said. "Doctor, get on your knee."

The Doctor slowly rose from his chair. "Your Grace, I am truly sorry for our deception, it was my doing not Clara's, let us help you fight-"

"Be quiet, Doctor!"

Clara watched in anxiety as the Doctor knelt and Richard drew his sword, to the dismay of many. Before they could even complete their gasp, the sword tapped the Doctor swiftly on the shoulders with the flat side.

"Arise, Sir Doctor, Knight of the Garter," Richard declared with a touch of impatience. "Earl of Gallifrey!"

The Doctor rose slowly as the hall descended into nervous laughter followed by a light applause.

"Your Grace, shouldn't there be vigil ceremony?" the Doctor asked.

"Normally yes, but I have more important matters to attend to," Richard answered. He lowered his voice. "Do not waste my time or risk your life by lying to me again, do you understand?"

"Yes, your Grace," the Doctor said. "I am happy to be of service."

"Clara, I will restore your peerage for real by the morrow," Richard said casually, before moving towards her and looking into her brown eyes with his blinking grey. The pupils dilated like moons and reflected something in them. "Look at me, listen to me, Clara. Never put me in that position again, I have had too many people betray me as easily as they eat and drink. For the first time in years, I was considering sending a woman to the block. Don't put me in that position again."

Clara nodded solemnly, but noted that there was no threat in Richard's voice at all. It seemed more like a plea; suddenly, she flushed with regret. "I won't, I promise."

"Good," Richard smiled weakly, stepping away from where she and the Doctor was sat. "We'll adjourn for a while."

Abruptly he left the hall, after a few moments Francis Lovell made to follow after giving the Doctor and Clara a sympathetic smile. The people began to disperse, some disappointed at the fact that no heads would roll today. The Doctor and Clara were largely ignored as dozens of people spilled out and milled past them.

Clara mouthed a thanks to John Howard, who smiled and politely waved that it was no matter. Her attention turned to Sir James, who seemed more pleased than she was.

"James, are you all right?"

"I am fine, really," James said, although he looked ripe with fever. The Doctor wasted no time in telling him so.

"My friend, what you need is tonnes of bed rest. Yes, that and a rich infusion of semi-nanogenes and herbal goodness!

"Warm cups of tea!" he explained, seeing their blank expressions, to which they nodded. At this point Robert arrived, thanking them for saving James and ordered his brother to be escorted to his chambers for much needed rest.

"That really was scary, wasn't it?" Bess grinned nervously, when she approached them with Cecily by her side. "Did you really fight off a group of Tudor soldiers?"

"With a chair?" Cecily added.

"Well, the chair broke but I used a spear, and it was only until our ship arrived to save us," Clara whispered bashfully. "Which wasn't very long, it was over in a minute."

"Still, that must have been terrifying and very brave of you to attempt?" a foreign sounding voice asked. They turned to see a dark haired and olive skinned girl in a green corset dress. Her hair was tied back in a bun and there was a golden chain around her neck. She smiled at them warmly. Clara thought that they had met before, but her mind couldn't place when and where.

"Donatella Meduro, my Ladies," she curtsied. "I am here with my father, Arturo Meduro- the Ambassador of Portugal." She nodded towards a half-bald portly man in a yellow doublet. His remaining hair was grey and he carried an elaborate black walking cane, while chatting to John Howard and Jack de la Pole.

"Welcome to England," Bess said.

"Why thank you, your Grace," Donatella returned.

"Bess, please," the Princess urged. "Will you share dinner with us, Senhorita Meduro? They shoule be serving in the next hall soon?"

"Donatella, please. It would be my pleasure!"

The other hall was filled with the aroma of meat, vegetables and cheese. Clara helped herself to what looked like carrot stew. It was tasty enough.

"It must have taken a lot of courage to fight off those soldiers, no?" Donatella continued. "May I ask from where you learned that?"

Clara blushed. "I'm no soldier, Donatella."

"There are many types of courage, are there not?" Donatella interjected. "Sometimes standing up to someone bigger and supposedly stronger than you is one of them. And you have shown it many times."

"Thanks, but how do you know?" Clara probed. "You've never met me before."

"Not properly but I have seen you." Her revelation surprised Clara, Cecily and Bess.

"Really, when? And where?"

Donatella smiled coyly. "Let's just say, while I assist my father in his work as Ambassador, I also hone in on other hobbies. I am an amateur chronicler, a not too bad painter... and I play the banjo."

Clara's eyes widened after a few moments, it hit her like an avalanche. "You're Banjo girl? The one at that Inn?"

Donatella nodded. "Yes, I occasionally blend in around smallfolk."

"Why?" Cecily asked.

"I find people interesting, it helps me to see them when they are at ease, under pressure and in cups."

"And is that why you and your father are here?" Clara asked.

"No, I am here to help negotiate a potential marriage or two," Donatella said.

Bess sighed and looked away.

"Between the King and our Princess Joanna, and between Prince Manuel and your Princess Elizabeth," Donatella motioned to Bess.

"You're not happy?" Clara asked.

"I don't know," Bess murmured. "I suppose I am still getting used to the idea."

"There's no rush, Father says," Donatella smiled. "Prince Manuel is a good man, and heir to the Throne of Portugal."

"I suppose so," Bess nodded weakly.

Clara gave her friend a sympathetic smile but before she could follow through with words, she heard shouting coming from the Great Hall. She caught the Doctor grinning and motioned to her that they follow. They tracked the origin and found Lady Rivers shouting at Richard, while Francis and Ratcliffe were trying to pacify her, but she was angrily pushing them away.

"Tudor has my son! He HAS MY SON! And you're just sat here doing nothing!"

"No, Elizabeth I assure you, we are definitely doing something," Richard said coldly.

"And what may that be?"

"We now know that Tudor is planning to invade soon, so we will issue a call for arms soon."

"What? No, I meant about Thomas Grey!" Lady Rivers screamed, her voice echoing across the palace. Clara distinctly heard the chatter die down in the other hall.

"He was in your care, Richard!" Lady Rivers continued.

Richard inhaled and rolled his eyes, getting a sympathetic look from Francis and Ratcliffe. "Actually, he was a grown man and never in my safekeeping."

"Yes, well that is what happens whenever someone is trusted to you, isn't it?" Lady Rivers snarled.

Richard glared at her and his breathing increased rapidly. There was a pause and no words escaped him. How could she say that?

"Madame, that was uncalled for!" Francis chastised. "Why don't you come with me and we can-?"

"Get your hands off of me, you dog!" Lady Rivers spat.

"Mama, what are you doing?" Bess exclaimed, arriving on to the scene.

"This man...!" Lady Rivers pointed at Richard. "Has let your brother Thomas fall prisoner to Tudor!"

"No Mama, it was completely unexpected!" Bess defended frantically.

"How dare you!" Her voice was icy and capable of melting the valor of the fiercest of warriors. "You are an utter disgrace, how dare you betray your brother!" She moved towards Bess as if to grab hold of her. Clara immediately pushed Bess behind her and prepared to fight this woman if need be. At first she had seemed like a normal and caring mother, who was rightly concerned about her daughter's bad dreams. Now Clara was hating her, how dare she come into the King's Court and humiliate Bess like that?

But before Clara or Lady Rivers could do anything to each other, to everyone's surprise, Richard grabbed the older woman's hand in a vice like grip and shoved her, causing her to stumble back in shock and almost fall over.

"Clara, take Bess back to the other hall and stay there. Now!" Richard commanded tersely.

Clara escorted her trembling friend back; however, they lingered at the doors.

"He is my son!" Lady Rivers rasped. "I want you to offer Tudor any ransom-!"

"There will be no ransom," Richard said.

"What? How can you...? Tudor will kill him!"

"I will not pay Henry Tudor money so he can come at my realm with a bigger army," Richard set out. "Let me make this plain to you, Elizabeth. If Tudor wishes to kill Thomas Grey in the hope of making me do something, he's welcome to try. Grey means nothing to me! Nothing!"

Lady Rivers began to weep. "Forgive me, your Grace, I meant no offence. He is my son, my own blood. I shall raise a ransom for him myself."

"No, you may not!" Richard snapped. Even Francis and Ratcliffe turned to face him suddenly.

"Bess, go now," Clara urged her friend out of the doors and shut them, but remained in the Great Hall.

"W-what?" Lady Rivers stammered. "Richard, please, my s-!"

"Save it, Elizabeth," Richard growled, his grey eyes burning with the darkness of his pupils. "You will pay Tudor nothing!"

The Doctor put a hand on his shoulder, as if to remind him of tact, but the King shook it off. When he spoke, his voice had a cold fury within it.

"You will return to your manor with an armed guard, and you will stay there until I see fit. You will not, and I mean will not, communicate with Tudor or negotiate anything with him. Or I will dare him to take off Thomas Grey's head! Do you understand?"

"Dickon!" Francis hissed, horrified.

Lady Rivers began sobbing endlessly and dropped to her knees. "Your Grace, mercy!"

"Brackenbury, Stanley," Richard addressed the two who had arrived. "Escort Lady Rivers back to her carriage and ensure that it returns to the Rivers Estate."

The men nodded, helping her up and leading her out.

"Wasn't that a little harsh?" Clara said. "Harsher than necessary?"

"No. It was as harsh as necessary," Richard said quietly, without even making eye contact. He began striding away but stopped abruptly in his tracks and turned to the Doctor and Clara, his expression pacifying somewhat.

"Tudor is now actually a Time Lord, who can expel fire from his hands, isn't he? That means I will need all the help I can get. In a few days I will send out calls for arms across the realm and prepare to defend it.

"I would like you to stand with me, both of you. Clara, you can assist the field medics, if it pleases you. Minstrels have already started singing songs of the courage of Clara Longspear." His eyes lit up with a smile. "Will you?"

Clara's words caught in her throat as she held her breath. Her heart weighed down with endless conflict, she was in a war that she had never envisaged. Now she was being asked to choose a side!

"Perhaps we can have some time, your Grace?" the Doctor came to her aid.

"Of course."

The Doctor led Clara up a flight of stairs where they found a chamber to talk.

"What are we supposed to do?" Clara beseeched. "This is a war that is part of established history, isn't it? If we declare for Richard we will definitely be on the losing side?"

The Doctor made no reply.

"Am I wrong, Doctor?" Clara demanded.

"No, you're not entirely," the Doctor replied. "In all the records of Gallifrey and of Earth there is never any mention of a Tudor Time Lord King, no sign of Macabrius doing half the things he would do if he took the throne." The Doctor frowned and walked over to a mirror, seeing his own laboured face.

Suddenly his eyes grew darker. "The thing is, some events are fixed in time, but Macabrius ruling England isn't one of them. Maybe history has already been changed, when Tudor decided to accept Macabrius into his soul. Maybe a Yorkist England is the lesser deviation. Maybe Richard is the one we can declare for!" He grinned and turned to face Clara, whose eyes looked heavy with doubts.

"What's wrong?"

"I-I don't know..." Clara stammered. "I just don't know if I should, or if I even want to commit myself to changing history... to fight for any side."

The Doctor smiled grimly and held her shoulders. "You have doubts, Clara? About who we would be serving, don't you?"

Clara nodded.

"Ask him," he whispered.

"Well?" Richard probed when the pair descended down the stairs.

Clara took a deep breath. "You know, your Grace, I have heard so many things about you before we met. Really vile things. But you turned out to be different, but I still don't know who you are. How can we serve someone who we don't know?

"I never thought that Richard could come so close to having me executed! I never thought that Richard could be so cold, callous and ruthless as you were to Lady Rivers!"

Richard sighed in silence, but Francis spoke up.

"My Lady, there are things about Elizabeth Woodville which you don't know."

"Even you thought threatening to dare the death of a mother's son was too much, Francis!" Clara pointed out coldly. "The truth is, Richard, I don't know you, I don't know who you are, what kind of a man you are... until I do, I can't serve you! I'm sorry."

The four men stared at her finality; for a moment Clara thought she had gone too far, but Richard let out a grim laugh.

"Perhaps you're right, you don't know me. I will try and remedy that but I doubt anything I say will actually make you or anyone know me," he said. "Why don't we come to my solar and I will answer any questions you have."

Clara let out a sigh of relief, following him, Francis, Ratcliffe and the Doctor to a solar on the ground floor. Sir James, Arturo and Donatella Meduro were already inside drinking and laughing at the far side of a rectangular table.

"Stay, Ambassador, stay," Richard waved them back down. He had a servant bring them all cups and a jugs of mead and boiled water in tea leaves. He seated himself towards the right of the nearside to the door, while the Doctor took the head. Clara and Francis sat on the left with Ratcliffe seating himself next to Richard.

Richard took a sip of mead. "So Clara, you have heard the rumours and want to know if they're true? You want to know whether I shed the blood of friends and sinned in taking my crown, whether I brought about the death of my dear wife Anne, and whether I killed my nephews, the Princes in the Tower?"

"Your Grace, perhaps I should escort the Ambassador and his daughter back to the-" James began.

"No, let them hear this!" Richard ordered.

"Yes," Clara murmured after taking a sip.

"Why do you ask me?" Richard said hoarsely.

"Because I want to know the truth!" Clara replied, almost indignantly.

"The whole truth?" Richard challenged.

"Yes please, your Grace."

Richard took a gulp this time. "The answer to all three is yes. I am guilty- guilty as charged!"

"What?" Clara uttered in unison with Francis, the Doctor and James. The Meduro's and Ratcliffe were at loss of words and frozen, absorbing what they had just heard.

Clara felt her skin pale and her heart beat faster. This was unreal; she had been expecting a denial or explanation, anything but this! She refused to believe it. It terrified her.

Legend had it that Richard was an ambitious and bloodthirsty usurper, a kin and wifeslayer, who only cared about himself and his glory. It couldn't all be true, yet Richard had confessed that it was.

"Your Grace, perhaps you are tired and should take the night off," Ratcliffe suggested quickly. The Doctor was sitting upright in his seat, looking to Francis for answers who just stared blankly in shock

Richard ignored him. "I thought you said you wanted to know the whole truth."

"Y-yes," Clara stammered. "W-why?" Her voice began to break.

"I will tell you why and how, and who I am," Richard's croaked. "My name is Richard Plantagenet- seventh son of Richard, Duke of York. This is the man I was and have become...


	11. The Story of Dickon Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next chapter originally turned out to be over 8000 words long! So I had to break it down into two parts.
> 
> So here, Richard starts giving his perspective of the world, who he was and who he truly is. A lot of this is conjecture, some of it simplification. Now I first planned this story when I had watched The White Queen and I could not fathom why Richard would just execute Anthony Woodville, as he did so in real life. It made more sense to keep him alive, so I thought that perhaps the incidents of this chapter could have happened.
> 
> I was less knowledgeable on the topic then, what PGregosaurus forgot to include was that there was a real threat that the Prince of Wales would be crowned before Richard could become Lord Protector. Anthony agreed to rendezvous with Richard in Northampton so they could escort Prince Eddie together, but then evaded him. Now that is ample reason to suspect that he was involved in the plot. But I planned this before I knew the full picture, so here we are.
> 
> Also, Buckingham never went into exile with the Yorkists as far as I'm aware. Also there was no "Battle of the Severn River", that's just something I made up for this story. In reality, the weather was so bad and his men losing so much morale that they all ran away before Richard could catch up to them. Buckingham did the same but was caught by a sherriff and handed over to Richard.
> 
> This Richard and the events are a mix between the Sunne in Splendour and the White Queen, in a way that's better because I get to play around and make Richard as grey as I want him to be. I did find this chapter difficult and I might have rushed to get some details out, because there is a lot to tell!

Richard

I was raised during the war between the House of Lancaster and House of York. I realised how this was no game when our home in Ludlow was burned to the ground by the then Queen Marguerite d'Anjou. I always remember how her piercing dark eyes shot through me like arrows, how she reared her war horse in the burning night and gave the order to raze the whole city, as I stood trembling with my mother and brother George. I was seven.

That should have prepared me for the day when I received the news a year later that my father and brother Edmund had been slaughtered just on Wakefield Bridge. I was always afraid, or at least conscious, of how precarious your life could be. How your life was hanging from a thread and one wrong move and that thread could easily break.

But my brother Edward had won, he crowned himself Edward IV and brought years of peace. George and I were sent North as wards for our cousin, Richard Neville- the Earl of Warwick, also called the Kingmaker. The idea was for him to train me into a man. He did in many ways, even long after his wardship over me had ended.

Firstly, Warwick had two girls. The younger was barely three years junior than me. If you asked her years later she would have told you as seriously and convincingly as possible, yet playing nervously with her chestnut brown hair that she always loved tree climbing and was good at it. But the first time that I actually and properly saw her was when her sister had dared her to climb that tree and abandoned her.

I remember laying my eyes on that girl, her own blue were threatening to flow with tears but by some amazing power she held them at bay. At first I was fascinated, then I was concerned as she begged me to help her, so I did. I promised to help her down from any tree no matter how high from that day on and it was a pleasant feeling to see her smile instead of cry and say "thank you, my Lord", before curtsying and inviting me to run with her.

Her name was Anne. Her laughter was a wonderful sound, not too loud or soft, but full of healthy mirth, the sort you take for granted and only learn to miss on the truly grey days when it's no longer there. We would often play together and look out for each other. Me, Anne, her sister Isabel, George and of course Francis and Rick Ratcliffe.

But there was a day when that childhood began to die; that was the day Edward had married Elizabeth Woodville rather than the French Princess with whom Warwick was negotiating with. That was the day when I saw Warwick livid, cold and bitter. Of course, I defended my brother, for I trusted him and his choice, and I was intruiged to see what Elizabeth Woodville would be like.

We tried to welcome her with open arms; despite her humble background- the widow of a Lancastrian knight, she was now part of our family. But she was very snooty towards us. She had risen from an attainted widow to Queen of England, and she felt the need jealously guard what she had gained from everyone, including the King's family. She even persuaded Edward to call off my betrothal to Anne- we were to wed when we were older.

The Nevilles suffered and lost titles, positions and holding to her family. Her mother was apparently cordial, her brother Anthony was her saving grace because he could always calm her down and make her see reason and be fair to us all. You might even say we were friends with a mutual goal to stay alive and serve Edward, and George would never let me hear the end of it- that since our brother had married a Woodville was I tempted to do the same?

However, Elizabeth's son Thomas Grey inherited her snobbery and it made him no friends. I never understood how he could enjoy taking part in Edward's whoring and not care that his own mother was overtly being dishonoured. But that came after the war.

When Warwick flattered George with the promise of making him King, he was swept off his feet. He betrayed us and ousted Edward, twice.

I was torn too, on one hand my mentor was asking me to join him and would have eagerly secured me my marriage to Anne, but there was also my brother, who despite his occasionally questionable judgement had done no wrong and was the rightful king. If only they could have sorted it out between themselves, but I was forced to pick a side and I did. Loyalty bound me. I owed that loyalty to my brother and he had done nothing to lose that right.

Instead of being married to Anne, like George was to Isabel, I was in exile in Burgundy with the likes of Edward, Anthony, William Hastings and Henry Stafford- Duke of Buckingham, to keep me company.

That's when I learned that Warwick had married Anne off to Edouard, Marguerite's son, as part of a deal. This woman and boy who were for many years our enemies and Warwick had decided to give them Anne and she belonged to them. While everyone else drank and ate, I had found some tree stump to smash my sword into. Nothing was as it should be- my brother should have been on the throne, I should have been in England by his side, and Anne should not have been bound to him forever.

Edward asked me whether if I regretted siding with him and not Warwick. I told him "if I could make my choice again, I would change nothing."

Our patience paid off and we invaded England again, we defeated Warwick at Barnett and destroyed the host of Marguerite and Edouard at Tewkesbury. I led the Yorkist vanguard at both battles, but I wish that I had crossed swords with the scoundrel Eduoard and taken his craven head off myself, but it was George who got the honour of spearing his royal hide.

We had won but things were far from over. In Coventry I was beckoned to the cherry garden by Edward and told to wait there. I remember waiting under the stone archway depicting Heracles slaying the Nymean Lion when I saw her again. Her hair was bound in the plait that I remembered, hanging over her slender shoulders that were covered by her purple dress. Her sky blue eyes blinked at me, her skin was pale and her figure was small but delicate like a woman's. I remember that moment when her fearful face for one moment twitched into that beautiful smile of the girl that I had remembered.

I wanted to take her by the waist and lift her in the air and embrace her with all my passion there and then, but I settled for holding her hands.

"It's good to see you, Anne!" I exclaimed. "Are you all right? Did the Stanleys treat you well on your way to Coventry? Is there anything at all you need?"

"I am, thank you, your Grace, all my needs have been met," she replied hurriedly.

"Anne, it's Richard to you, you know that," I reminded her.

"Yes, I'm sorry..." her voice trailed off, her cheeks flushed and her eyes averted from me.

Was she ashamed to look at me? Did she see the sword on my hip and wonder whether I had slaughtered her father? Whether I had killed Edouard and made her a traitor's widow rather than Queen of England as she would have been? But then my selfishness hit me hard. Anne was terrified- not of me per se, but of what would happen to her. Her mother had fled to take sanctuary and Marguerite d'Anjou was to be detained in the Tower of London.

"Anne, I am truly sorry about your father, he would always be the man who taught me to fight and shoot!" I blurted quickly.

"I know," Anne murmured.

"As for your... as for Edouard of Lancaster..." I couldn't say 'husband' not at that time. I couldn't even complete my sentence, despite Anne almost beseeching me to with those wide eyes.

"What is it?"

"It doesn't matter," I said wistfully. Only that it did, because nothing could be like it was. She had been someone else's wife for a whole year, he was a part of her whether I liked it or not. That hurt but I dared not show it, so I said the first thing that came into my mind. "I've missed you, Anne," I muttered.

I expected no response, but Anne sparked a smile. "You have? Truly?"

"Truly," I replied.

"I've missed you too," Anne confessed. "When I heard that you had been hurt, I feared for you, Richard..."

"Well, I'm here and I'm safe, and so are you," I said. "I've thought about you often, wondering if you were all right."

"Richard, I never wanted this, you must understand!" Anne cried. "I was told that I had to marry Edouard, whether I willed it or not!"

"I know," I said, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. "Anne, I promise to look after you now, you have my word."

Anne nodded tearfully.

I then pulled her in for an embrace and kissed her cheek close to her ear. I held her hair on the back of her head firmly but gently. She seemed to enjoy this but suddenly pushed me away, going pale with fear.

"Anne, what's the matter?" I said. "Forgive me, I really didn't mean to..."

"It's not you, Richard," Anne replied. "It's nothing, I'm just being stupid... He sometimes did that to me before... It's nothing... please may I be excused?"

I nodded dumbfounded, and she strode away shielding her face. I felt myself burning with rage, not at her- never at her- but at what she had told me. I wasn't relieved at the fact that she wasn't in love with Edouard after all, but I wished at that moment that I had been the one to hunt him down and slay him like a dog.

I ran after Anne and told her that I would understand if she didn't want to talk about it, but I begged her to tell me how I could help and make her forget.

She just fell into my arms like a breeze and asked me to hold her. She didn't mean for me to hear her say very sadly: "I wish you could."

My rage cooled for something else- a tender and fierce protectiveness. I swore to myself that I would help this girl to forget, protect her from all bad things and let nothing harm her, no matter how long it would take.

I would have gone to war for her and I almost did- against George for keeping her prisoner in his house to steal her share of her mother's fortune. He did not want her to marry, so he planned to have her put away in a nunnery, asylum or somewhere. But I took her to sanctuary, I pledged to her my heart, my soul and my protection as her husband.

At first she was shocked but pointed out that I would get her fortune if I married her. That was true, but I swore to her that I would be a true husband because I loved her.

"Perhaps I always have and I always will, until my dying breath," I remember saying till this very day. That's one of the few promises I have always kept.

We got married and moved to Middleham Castle, where we ruled as Lord and Lady of the North and that was a good life. Not that it was easy, it wasn't, but the people were it's biggest asset. Thousands depended upon my lordship and governance over them- to settle their disputes, to protect them, make laws and enforce them, to bring wealth and prosperity to them and their homes. You might wonder why my heraldic device is the Whyte Boar, it's because this is what it represents: prosperity, stability and peace. That was my dream and I earned the loyalty and love of the North.

For a while everything was good- Anne and I were happy, we were blessed with one son- Edward, who we called Ned. Until Isabel died that is. George started making accusations of witchcraft and murder. Sometimes they were against the Queen, but he tortured and got a confession from a maid saying that she killed Isabel, by poisoning her! It was all a farce and Edward had George arrested and sent to the Tower.

The Queen was not happy to let it lie, she summoned Anne, who was grieving for the death of her sister. She harassed, interrogated and insulted her as a farce to show that she was not a witch as George alleged. The Queen asked Anne in front of all her ladies whether she thought the Queen was a witch who had killed her Isabel, putting Anne in a very uncomfortable position since that was exactly what Isabel confided in Anne before her death.

The Queen had turned her nose at me because I was someone who my brother trusted who wasn't her, she had tried to stop my marriage with Anne just to spite her for being Warwick's daughter and treated her poorly as a lady in waiting. But nothing earned the Queen my enmity as much as interrogating my grieving wife like that without my permission, knowledge or support.

Edward refused George any visitors and he had set his mind on executing him. I had no more love for George than I had to, not after what he did to Anne, but I couldn't understand why? I bet the Queen had something to do with it; she had wanted George's head on a spike ever since he had killed her father and one of her brothers.

Of course, Edward denied that, he was a fool! A fool for marrying someone like that who was not fit to be Queen, someone who hated his family just for being his family, someone who had the power to break us apart and tried to undermine what we had at every opportunity. He was a fool for making his son, Eddie, who was Prince of Wales, be raised by Anthony Woodville. In another universe, Anthony might have been the right choice but he was too much under the influence and orders of Elizabeth Woodville, and her family were hated by the nobles and commoners.

Edward was a fool to invest so much of Eddie's upbringing with Anthony and not enough with others like myself, Francis or John Howard, so we were all practically strangers to him when the crucial time came.

He was fool for drinking, eating and whoring himself to death without thinking of the consequences that we would... that I would have to clean up! But he was the man that had become my father figure, the one who looked after me, the one that I went into exile with and helped recover his rightful place on the throne. Despite everything that had happened I loved him, but I also hated the mess that he had created.

I had to find out about his death through William Hastings; the Queen had decided not to burden me with such trivial news. She also forgot to mention that Edward had made me Lord Protector and the legal guardian of the Prince of Wales until Eddie was of age! But the Queen and her Woodville kin had decided to put aside my Protectorship so she could rule in Eddie's name. Anthony was under orders to bring Eddie to the capital so he could be crowned.

Anne had begged me to be careful, she was fearful for my life- when I set out she came after me twice to bless me and beg me to be safe and to take no risks, and come back to her and our boy.

I was touched, and terrified but I dared not show it. I knew that there was a real chance that the Queen would have my head and destroy everything that I had. I had to be calm and deal with this without allowing another civil war to start.

Luckily, Anthony seemed to remember that we were allies once; we had shared the same ship in exile and had fought to restore my brother to the throne. We were bound by our love for Edward and our survival had depended on it. He agreed to rendezvous with the hosts of Buckingham and myself at Northamption.

When Anthony arrived, we were all relieved, because maybe this wouldn't turn into a bloodbath after all. Along with him he had brough Dick Grey, his nephew, and Sir Thomas Vaughn. Of course, there was also Eddie with them.

"Who are these men, Uncle?" Eddie had asked. "What do they want?"

"Your Grace," I said dismounting. "I am your Uncle Richard, your father's brother, I served him loyally and he came to rely on me and trust me with his life. He entrusted me to be your guardian, your Lord Protector and teach you to be King. I am under orders to escort you to Westminster."

"But he wants his Uncle Anthony to escort him," Dick Grey responded coldly. "Don't you, Eddie?"

Eddie looked confused. "Why isn't my father here?"

"He passed away, lad," Buckingham said flatly. He turned to Dick. "I'd think you know that the King deserves a better entourage than... this one."

"Harry, not here!" I snapped.

"My father is dead?" Eddie cried.

"I'm afraid so, I am sorry for your loss, we all are," I assured. "His dying wish was for me to look after you now."

"B-but I want... Uncle Anthony," Eddie stammered, going pale and looking towards his uncle.

"Well, why don't we escort him together?" Anthony smiled.

I nodded. "That is a wise idea, Anthony."

"Very well, we shall stay the night here in Northampton! Is that amenable to you, my Lord Gloucester?"

"It is." I mounted my horse once more and rode into Northampton with the Woodville led escort. But not before Buckingham whispered to me: "Be careful, Dickon, for God's sake be careful, you don't know what they plan to do when you sleep."

Even as we ate and drank, there was no merriment that night and tension suffocated the air. I couldn't help but dwell on Buckingham's warning. I tried making small talk with Anthony, but was there an ulterior motive behind his smile? Grey and Vaughn responded with a kind of mock courtsey, making me even more uneasy.

That night I could not sleep, for I was expecting them to try something stupid. I had two guards outside of my room, just in case.

Suddenly, my door was booted open and my guards appeared to be sleeping. Had I been in my bed rather than the other side where my sword happened to be, I might have been killed as my squire, Jacob Tyrell, was.

Two masked men with steel swords had burst in, seeking my death. I desperately drew my blade and parried a slash from one of the assassins, shouting for the guards. I was fighting for my life, using a chair as a shield. I was in my nightshirt and breeches, but I appeared to be getting the upper hand with these two.

I smacked away the shorter assassin's sword and slashed over him, slicing into his shoulder bone. He screamed and dropped as blood leaked from his wound. I pulled out and kicked him away, ready to face his partner.

However, both decided that their cause was lost and scarpered. Francis, Buckingham and Ratcliffe apprehended the injured assassin, who turned out to be Thomas Vaughn. My guards had been drugged, apparently.

Anthony had come out to meet us and see what the commotion was about. He denied all knowledge of the assassination attempt on my life, even when it became obvious that if Vaughn was involved so too was Richard Grey. It turned out that he was missing from his chambers. Anthony cooperated fully with our search for him, but Grey was nowhere to be found.

I could not sleep after that, I had come moments from death and my guards had been drugged. I sat awake sharpening my sword, prepared to use it. And how would I explain this to Eddie, that his half-brother had made an attempt on my life and I was seriously contemplating executing him? Could I trust Anthony to explain to him fairly and truthfully?

Anthony never got the chance. He was seen heading to an abandoned barn the next morning, where he met Dick Grey. Neither of them expected Ratcliffe and Buckingham to have followed them with their men and capture their sorry hides as they came out.

Anthony swore he had nothing to do with the assassination attempt, he had advised against this sort of trouble, and was only trying to ascertain what had happened. He had sheltered Grey who had come to him desperately, and the latter had let himself out of his uncle's window and was told to go to that barn and wait there till the morning.

His story was backed up by Vaughn and Grey both, though both tried shifting the idea to each other.

I gave orders for all three to be detained and appointed Ratcliffe to imprison them. I ensured that Eddie wasn't around to see this and told him that for our protection and so his father's wishes could be followed, Anthony, Grey and Vaughn had to be arrested for trying to have me killed in my bed.

I could tell from his reaction then, and once we took him into the Tower for his coronation, that he didn't believe me.

Meanwhile, the Queen had taken sanctuary with her daughters and robbed the treasury of its Crown Jewels in the process.

"If you're not a danger to us, then why has Mother taken sanctuary?" Eddie asked me, his face flaring with rage. "Why were you so keen to separate me from my uncle and brother?"

"They tried to kill me when your father trusted me to bring you here, you know that, your Grace!"

"I know my father was wrong to trust you, you're a traitor!" Eddie snarled. "Mother is scared of you because you're cruel and you-!"

"Your mother is playing a game for her own ends!" I snapped, harsher than I intended to. "Forgive me, Eddie, but I swear to you that I'm trying to help you, can you not see that?"

"I curse you!" Eddie spat after a moment. I'm not proud of it, but I wanted to slap him at this moment. How could he say that, after I had always been loyal to my brother? What had Anthony been telling him? What had the Queen told him, that I was some wicked monster?

Luckily, I restrained myself. "We'll talk later," I said, with no warmth in my voice.

He had cursed me. I had nearly lost my life at Northampton, but this conversation terrified me so much more. Would he ever understand why I had no choice but to arrest Anthony and Dick? That I wasn't after his rightful throne? That I wasn't what the Queen made him out to be? In three years time when he came of age would he understand? Or would he order me to the block as retribution?

Luckily, Buckingham and Francis brought before me Bishop John Stillington, an old man who would probably die soon. But he had something to tell me and that thing would change everything.

Before my brother met Elizabeth Woodville, Edward had taken a fancy to a Lady Eleanor Butler. He pursued her but she would not let him bed her. To appease her, Stillington said, he agreed to marry her. He did so before Stillington and bedded her. But things didn't work out and he went on to become King, while she took vows and died shortly after.

The realisation hit me. That meant that his marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was not valid and their children illegitimate. I refused to believe it, Edward would never be so stupid and reckless, would he? But the more I thought of it the more it seemed true. My brother was a known womaniser, and how had he married Elizabeth Woodville? He wanted her but she refused until he married her- exactly like Eleanor Butler.

If what Stillington said was true then that meant I was the rightful king! It felt wrong, but so right too- the perfect solution to our crisis. I confided in Anne that night, and I realised what I had to do.

I could legitimise Eddie through an Act of Parliament, but we would have a boy king who could order me to die, just like the last Lord Protector of the realm. Anne and my Ned would be attainted as I died a traitor; if the Woodville's were feeling generously merciful they may let Anne become a nun or force her to marry Edouard Lancaster II.

I could reverse the attainder against George's son, Ed, who Anne and I had adopted with Megan. But we would still have a boy king, who was often scared of his own shadow and not made to rule. England had not fared well with boy kings history had taught us.

The last choice was that I could take the throne. I had been Lord of the North, I had ruled. It seemed like the safest option for me, Ned and Anne. I took it. I had sworn to protect my family, especially Anne, I would not abandon her to the mercy of the Woodvilles.

I confided in my closest, those who I could trust about what I intended to do. I needed Richie to join his brother in the Tower, otherwise Lady Rivers could still move against me. I reminded her that the heir apparent traditionally has a male kinsman stay with him before his coronation; surprisingly, she handed him over without hassle.

As soon as I had Richie I was honest with him from the start of what was about to happen; I judged it would be better if he heard it from me. Richie, unlike his brother, knew me. Of course he was upset, but he knew I wasn't saying this lightly or trying to usurp something that wasn't mine. I promised that there would always be a place at my Court for him. In the mean time it was best he keep Eddie company in the Tower.

I thought that was the end of the matter, but thanks to Catesby, I found out that there was another plot against me. It was masterminded by Elizabeth Woodville and Margaret Stanley, the mother of Henry Tudor and wife of Thomas Stanley. But it was led by Thomas Grey and William Hastings, who I thought of as a friend. That was my second betrayal by a so called friend.

Elizabeth was in sanctuary, Thomas Grey had fled in time, Stanley seemed to have been oblivious to what his wife was doing but there was little evidence against him. I siezed Hastings at a council meeting and he confessed. He hated that I was listening to Buckingham, he hated that I wouldn't legitimise Eddie, he wanted me to just roll over and let the Woodvilles skewer me. So he got into bed with them.

Here was someone who had helped me and been friendly with me, now he was plotting my death! Exactly like Anthony, he had betrayed me. Not only that, he was envious of Buckingham, fearing that the younger would oust him because I trusted him.

I remember the look of fear in his eyes as I ordered his head to be struck off there and then. I remember shaking with anticipation but forced myself to iron my resolve- this was a deadly game and I had to fight to stay alive. I had to take Hastings there and then, otherwise I would balk.

I brought Stillington in and he explained to the council about Eleanor Butler, so Parliament petitioned me to be King.

Before accepting, I knew I had to decide what to do with Woodville, Vaughn and Grey. The latter two had to die, but I had thought Anthony as a friend, the Woodvilles' saving grace, could he be an ally in bridging the gap between myself and the Woodvilles? Was he a bad man for trying to protect his nephew? Was I balking and delaying the inevitable lesson Hastings had taught me?

Anthony had pleaded to speak with me in prison, he begged me to let Richard Grey go at least. I could not do that. It dawned on me that I had to spare both or neither. I could not trust Anthony any more; he may be my ally today but tomorrow would he seek to get vengeance?

When Edward had been alive, when he had ruled, when Lancaster had fought us- that was a child's summertime. Now was a new season- a harsher, colder and truly ruthless winter.

I forced myself to watch as their heads were taken off; Richard Grey, Thomas Vaughn and Anthony Woodville. I could not balk any more, I had to show iron will for the sake of myself, my family and country.

I pledged myself that the quality of my rule would justify the means that I had achieved this end. I would be a good and just king, who would protect, inspire and raise his people to prosperity.

Anne and I read out our coronation oath in English- not Latin, not French, but in the tongue that most Englishmen could understand. So began my reign; His Grace King Richard, Third of his name since the Norman Conquest.


	12. The Story of Dickon Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, as you probably know, there is no real proof whatsoever that Richard even played the card that he does in this chapter. That's another plot point that PGregosaurus (as AddyPlantagenet calls her) has decided to write about because she's into that stuff for some strange reason, just look at her other books like Wideacre (if you want to be traumatised)!
> 
> My reason for playing with this idea is that it makes Richard appear darker and I wanted to show how the Crown has changed him as a man. But I stress, none of that actually happened.  
> This continues Richard's POV and will be the last of that type.

Richard

You will remember Eddie and Richie, who were still in the Tower. I knew that they could be used as pawns to plot against me if the wrong person whispered in their ears. Richie probably would have been harder to exploit, even though I knew he was very upset at what had happened.

Despite them being bastards, they were still my nephews, still had my brother's blood in them. That meant they were my blood too, so I would protect them. I failed.

I trusted Buckingham to choose their stewards and servants while they lived in the Tower.

One day, he came into my solar during a council meeting alerting us that the Princes and their servants had gone missing, disappeared as if by magic. There had been no ransom for them or anyone claiming that they had been taken by them. But I knew that whoever took them was sly and cunning, and they would use the Princes as pawns when it suited them, and it irked me that I had no idea who they were or what they wanted.

After a discussion, we agreed not to publicise that they were missing, because to do so would cause malicious whispering that they had conveniently disappeared while under my protection, and I couldn't have that. Come to think of it, it was Buckingham who was most keen for this idea. Of all of us, it was Buckingham who had yet to express any hope or concern that the Princes were all right. A few weeks later, while intercepting the correspondence of Margaret Stanley, I found that Thomas Grey, the Woodvilles and Henry Tudor had made a little deal: Tudor was to marry Bess and fight for my throne when he sailed for England. It was Buckingham who was leading the rebellion against me from the South, spreading rumours that I had murdered the Princes while they slept.

Buckingham, a man who I thought had earned my trust when he helped me against the Woodvilles and Hastings, had become a traitor. I had given him everything he asked for- a seat on the Council, the Chief Justiceship of North and South Wales, the Office of Lord Constable!

But after Anthony and Hastings why did I expect differently? While Anthony betrayed me for his family and Hastings for his perceived self-preservation, Buckingham did what he did to dishonour me and take the Throne for himself. That was probably his intention from the start, after all he had a claim to the Throne too.

Then it dawned on me that this man had chosen the Princes attendants, he had never expressed concern for their safety after their disappearence, pleaded with me to keep quiet and was now spreading lies that I had ordered their deaths. He knew. He knew because it was him. He betrayed me by plotting my downfall, but the worse betrayal was what he did to Eddie and Richie- two innocent boys who were under thirteen! My brother's sons!

I swore that when I would meet him, there would be no mercy, I wanted to strike him from his horse and feet myself. So we prepared for war; Buckingham was expecting me to be taken by surprise, but I would not grant him that.

The weather was terrible, a storm spread across the seas. Tudor couldn't land, and my army pursued Buckingham's. We routed them easily on the River Severn, we almost captured Thomas Grey, but he managed to escape long before we caught up with Buckingham. Tudor never got the chance to join his friends.

A good few nobles, who took part in this mutiny, got their reckoning. I was victorious, the man who was my most faithless betrayer was in my power. But even as Buckingham pleaded for his pathetic life without dignity for the mercy I would never grant him and his head was struck off, I felt only hollowness. I had crushed his rebellion, but he had bested me. Two boys, who had been entrusted with my care, were now dead because I had trusted Buckingham, because I had taken the Crown and put them in the Tower, because I had failed my brother Edward.

Anne comforted me through that night, reminding me that I couldn't have known what Buckingham was planning all along, that it was he who gave the order or had them killed on his own volition, not mine. But I knew that I was responsible, I knew of his hatred for the Woodvilles and how he never failed to remind me that Eddie was more Woodville than Plantagenet.

What could we do? We couldn't blame Buckingham now because it would be tantamount to admitting that the Princes' disappearance had been kept hushed all this time. I couldn't beg forgiveness from the people because that would give our enemies a perfect opportunity to destroy us, sow seeds of hatred amongst us.

So I made pilgrimage to Canterbury, begging the Almighty for a way to atone for my sins. I commissioned a hundred priests in York Minster to pray for my soul.

In the end, I decided that I could atone for failing my nephews by bringing my nieces back into my court and ensuring that they are well looked after, for sanctuary is no place for a girl about to become a woman.

So I brought my terms to Elizabeth: she would be allowed to return to her home in the Rivers Estate, Bess and Cecily would come and stay with me, and Elizabeth would never plot against me or denounce me again. She insisted that I pardon Thomas Grey as well and bring him into Court too. I agreed because we were making progress and I was this close to ending this debacle.

Bess had been betrothed to Henry Tudor, and all eyes were on her when she came to Westminster, watching with anticipation at what she might do- the daughter of King Edward IV and a key to the war that was coming.

I never lusted after her, no matter what Tudor agents might say. I never bedded her. But so far I have failed her, like I failed her brothers. I doted on her, I am guilty of that- she was my niece. I took her riding, dancing and to orchestras- she enjoys playing the violin. But not all of this was because she was my niece, but because I had to be her best friend so people would see that she was devoted to me and not Tudor. So when the time came, they would flock to support me if they loved her. That was a mistake.

If Bess had been ten years younger, no one would have batted an eyelid, no one would have cared. But some people who have nothing better to do began gossiping in the taverns about there being something between us.

The idea was ridiculous, just because there were hardly thirteen years between us and both of us were technically young, people thought that there was something romantic going on.

It was Anne, after drinking a little too much wine, told me about these rumours; she didn't believe them, though she was far from happy to hear them. While most kings or noblemen take a concubine or whore at least once during their marriages, particularly when their wives are in confinement, I never did. I had always been faithful to my Anne from the moment that I knelt with her before the altar and said the words. Quite understandably, these rumours unnerved her somewhat.

Had I been Duke of Gloucester and she had come to me with that, I would have held her and told her that there was only one woman who I intended to share my bed with, the one who was mine as I was hers. But as King, I tended to forget what was important. I told her that that was a completely absurd notion, but I began to think about how I could use this to my advantage, how I could play this card to destroy Tudor. I wondered that if Buckingham could spark rumours that I had killed the Princes then why couldn't I spark rumours that he was a cuckold. After all, hadn't Charles of Burgundy had to deal with rumours that he preferred men to women and Edward had to deal with rumours until his death that he was under Elizabeth Woodville's spell?

I'm not proud of the game I was playing, I'm not proud of how I played it, but I kept telling myself that the ends would justify the means. Once Tudor was defeated, Bess and I would regale how we discredited Tudor and how it was all just a clever ploy, then everything could go back to normal.

Anne was not impressed and made it clear, but I told her we couldn't fight honourably any more, ever since becoming King I have had to suck up to and humour lords who I would have attainted or killed if they were in the North, but those days were gone. I told her that I would not really be dishonouring her, if she knew the truth and went along with it- I needed her to do that, just until Tudor was defeated. We shared words, both of us were miserable, but I was adamant that this needed to be done, especially as Tudor would invade again.

Why could Anne not see that? How could she doubt that this was just a ploy? I thought.

And then our Ned died and we weren't even there to see his last moments, to comfort him as he passed. My son, my innocent little boy was gone. Perhaps this was God's way of telling me that I had sinned in taking the Crown, that I was guilty of Eddie and Richie's murder- a son for a son.

That night I went to comfort my Anne, she was so distraught and was crying quietly, yet trying to keep a brave face, almost refusing to let me see her cry. I was drawn back to when we first married; despite everything that her marriage to Lancaster had done to her, despite being abandoned by her mother, father and later sister and being imprisoned by George, she had been strong. She had been afraid to be completely vulnerable before me, as if I would see her crying and think her weak or laugh at her. I had taught her that she need not feel like that, that I would never laugh at her, I would try and help her, protect her and comfort her. I would never hurt her like that, especially when she was vulnerable.

Yet here we were again, after so many years. I realised how much my game had cost me, how much it could cost me. I did not want to lose Anne, never Anne, yet as I gazed at the painful numbness in her eyes, the dark patches underneath, the way her hair was plaited behind her, with her fragile shoulders bared by her shift and giving proof to the delicate frame beneath, I realised that I was close to losing her just like that.

Maybe I had been too hasty in playing that card, maybe there was another way and we could both talk about it together. But right now I needed her, I wanted to be with her and solace her just like old times, just like before.

As I tucked her in her bed, she quietly accused me of having Bess comfort me at our sons funeral- that had just been a brief hand hold, nothing sinister and nothing resembling the card that I had disgracefully been paying, that I was sick of playing.

I told her that was the past and right now I wanted her, I needed her like I know she needed me.

"My son is dead... my only son, my only child..." Anne vented.

"Then let's make another one," I suggested, kissing her forehead. My Anne was hurting, so was I, but this was one way I could salvage something of what we once were, something to ease the pain.

She flinched away with the look of poison in her eyes. "What's the point in touching me now? We've been trying for over twelve years, there is no point!"

"There is, Anne!" I insisted. "I want you, Anne, I want to share your pain and ease it if I can!"

"Why?"

"Because you're my wife and I love you!"

Anne took a deep breath. "You do not love me! I don't think you ever have!"

"How could you say that, Anne?" I replied indignantly.

"You're a liar, you're a fraud, you told me that you didn't kill those Princes, but you lied!" Anne accused. "This is proof of it, our son is dead and it's your fault!"

I felt my world and my heart sink like it would never rise again. I was at loss of words, as hers pierced me and burned a fire within me. Because I had confided in her about the Princes, and about how bad I felt for failing them, and she had reassured me. Whenever I doubted myself for taking the Crown, Anne had been there to reassure me that I made a difficult choice, but one that was right by my family and my realm. Now she knew my weaknesses and was using them against me.

I told Anne that I fought to come back to her, that I would have started a war to protect her from George, that I gave up all of the contested properties except Middleham to be with her, that I married her despite whisperings that she was carrying Lancaster's child and that she was a Lancaster in heart and soul. I reminded her that I took the Crown to protect her, for her sake. I told her that perhaps I should have left her with George.

By the time I realised what I had just said, the damage was done- the look of horror and shock blazed through Anne's face. I tried to apologise and make amends, but it was too late. Anne told me to leave and that she did not want to be with me tonight. I think she must have wept that night, I know I did. My strongest, most stable and important bridge had burned to cinders.

I did try and make amends for weeks and even months after, but Anne always found an excuse to not see me, short of forcing her through men at arms there was nothing I could do. Anne would be formal and polite in public, but she stopped calling me "Richard" or "Dickon", from then on it was always " your Grace", "my Liege" or something of that sort.

As the days went on, my efforts to reach out to her were futile, every letter or note or gift that I sent was never seen again- I didn't know if she threw it away or anything. So gradually I stopped reaching out to her, I had a realm to lead, a wife who despised me and whose heart was lost from me. Each day my enemies grew more confident, while I grew more and more numb.

I was advised to give her space, so I did. Unknown to me, Anne was unwell and had been for sometime. She was high with fever, coughing up blood and her muscles were slowly deteriorating.

As soon as I found out, I rushed into her chambers and demanded why I hadn't been told of my wife's health earlier. The response from the physician was that he assumed that I had been told.

Anne was actually glad to see me; her hair was unkempt, her skin was pale and gaunt, and dark patches covered her eyes. Despite that, she managed a weak smile and jested that she must be dreaming.

I dismissed the stewards and desperately asked her why hadn't she called for me earlier when all this had happened to her. I then saw that every flower, every gift, note, letter or poem that I had sent her as a token to win her forgiveness was on one of the tables, all compiled together.

"I knew you were busy..." she replied weakly.

"Dammit Anne, why didn't you respond to me all this time?" I demanded. "Why did you keep me in the dark?"

"I'm so sorry..." was her reply. I could see the tears in her eyes, and I was flooded with guilt.

"No, I'm sorry," I whispered. She began a series of coughing and I could see her blood on her handkerchief. She forbade me from coming too close to her face and asked if I would be so kind as to pass her a cup of water. I obliged.

"Anne, I really need you to know how much I care for you," I croaked. "I know I have let you down and given you doubt-"

"Richard... please... the past is the past," she smiled. "When I'm gone-"

"Don't say that!" I snapped. "Don't you dare talk like that!" I cursed myself as soon as I saw the pain in her expression; another fit of bloody coughs interrupted us before we were ready to proceed.

"When I'm gone... I want you to marry again, find a princess or lady who would give you heirs, where I have failed..."

"Anne!" I hissed, tears filling my eyes. "You were never a failure, not in my eyes!"

"It's OK, Richard..." her voice was full of resignation. "Your realm needs you, and you need heirs to carry on your legacy and everything you have fought for."

"Anne, what I need is you!" I cried. "All I have ever needed is you! Nothing ever makes sense without you! None of this matters if you're not around for me to share it with."

"Hush now, my Dickon, soon I will be with our Ned," Anne said tearfully. "And my sister... my father too... I don't want to see you for a very long time." We both gave a short chuckle, which only seemed to aggravate her pain.

"Come to me with all those stories of how you led your country, of how you ruled and defeated that pretender, of how you brought a Golden Age to England."

I nodded sadly, deeply grieved by the resignation in her voice.

"Will you read to me?"

I nodded slowly. "Of course, I will."

I remembered making a promise to myself to be strong for her sake, so I swallowed my own tears, grief and fear; I read to her, just like I used to when we were both young, when none of these problems existed.

I did that for a few days, until she asked me a question and begged me to tell her honestly.

"Did you... love me, Richard? Truly...?" Anne whispered. "I mean... was there a time... where it was... unconditional... where it was just us... nothing else?"

I took a deep breath. Was it ever like she had asked, when my love was hers and hers alone, without it being shared with love for my Crown or anything else? Could I answer without lying to her or upsetting her? Could I give her the answer she needed?

"Anne, even when I have loved other things, the best part of my love has always been yours, I promise you that," I said finally, holding her hand.

It then dawned on me that she had not heard, the life had drained from her face and she was gone.

I had played a dangerous game for the Crown, I had made Anne sick, I had poisoned her with a broken heart and despite my attempts to redeem myself, it wasn't enough.

I sent Bess away, figuring that it would be better for her to not hear the rumours, but I made her think that she had done something wrong. That child is sinless, the trespass is mine and mine alone. Every time I look at her, I cannot help but feel guilt at how she saw me as filling the void that Edward had left and how I was complicit in ruining her good name.

I had failed to protect my nephews, when they were in my care. I trusted the wrong person and that got them killed.

On the day Anne died, the skies went dark with an eclipse and that's how I felt inside. The man I was had been smothered by the darkness and can never come back, these wounds can never heal completely, what I had done could never be undone.

You asked me once why I was indifferent to Megan and Ed. I am not indifferent to them at all. When George died, they were raised and nurtured by myself and Anne, they saw the man I used to be. They are both innocent, they don't know what's going on. I don't want them to know the man that I have become because I have nothing to give them but regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both of these chapters were very emotionally and mentally difficult to write, but I hope I did them justice. This is the last chapter with Richard's first person POV.
> 
> I know Richard said things that you wouldn't normally say in front of Ambassadors, but there's a reason why he did and the Portuguese need this marriage to secure allies in a potential conflict with Spain.


	13. So Give Me Hope (In the Darkness)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Clara deal with the aftermath of Richard's confession. Is there hope in the darkness?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the chorus of a song by Mumford and Sons called Ghosts That We Knew, that Richard plays on the lute. Obviously, he never wrote this song but I think it's powerful and soulful, I would recommend having a listen. ;)

The solar was silent as Richard's words and their weight sunk in. Clara could hardly keep her eyes dry as she looked at Richard. His skin was as pale as snow, his hair seemed to wilt like a dying flower. His eyes carried the burden on his soul for so long, they seemed to be the only part of his body with life within.

As he had regaled his tale, it was as if he had descended into a deep reverie of memories. His face had genuinely lit up as he had fondly remembered Anne Neville, and broke to pieces just like his heart as he talked of losing her, his honour and his promises.

It dawned on Clara how harshly Richard judged himself and dared to make the first move, after wiping her tears; she reached over a hand to touch his, while the whole room held their breath and cried silently. Luckily Richard did not flinch away, he squeezed back.

"I believe you," Clara whispered tearfully.

Richard grunted absent mindedly, but gave a weak smile. "That's good to know."

"It's like what the Doctor said, remember who you are, who you were, where you've been, what lessons you've learned and you will always find your back to where you're meant to be. But most importantly, be the man you are supposed to be."

"You believe so?"

"I do!" James interjected before Clara could reply. "I have always believed in you, Dickon, never have I doubted your intentions. Never have I doubted that I would serve you till the end. Do you know why? Many years ago, my brother and I were in Hornby Castle, waiting with dread, terror and anticipation. The King had handed our castle over to Thomas Stanley, who was bringing state of the art cannons to blast us into submission. We were cold, hungry and with no ammunition, not daring to expect any mercy.

"But that day, one young Duke, an honourable and good man, came to our aid, commanding Lord Stanley to stand down. From that day on, my brother and I knew that we would follow this man, stand by him and defend him, even if it costs us our lives! Loyaulte me lie!

"Make sure you write about that, Donatella," James croaked at the Ambassador's daughter. His eyes were like moons, heavy with sincerity.

"I'll be sure to," Donatella nodded.

"That's very magnanimous of you, James," Richard gave a weak laugh.

"So, I can tell Portugal that the rumours are codswallop?" Meduro probed.

"That you can," Ratcliffe confirmed.

"Well, in that case, I think Prince Manuel and Princess Joana will be delighted, your Grace!" Meduro laughed nervously. "Donatella, come, let's leave them to talk in private."

"Your Grace, I have no blood brothers, but you are the brother I chose. You have my sword, my friendship and whatever I can offer," Francis pledged, once the Meduros left.

"It goes without saying, Francis."

"I know you, Dickon, and there is no man I would rather serve with my life," Ratcliffe grinned. Richard nodded.

"And what about you, Doctor and Lady Clara? Will you ride with me, serve me with your counsel, serve me on the field or with the medic?"

Clara looked into Richard's eyes and gave a nod, thinking of Bess, Megan and Ed, but also of Richard, especially the man he was trying to be. She thought of the Time Lord she had encountered in Calais and his vengeful threats. She looked encouragingly at the Doctor and both said a single word. "Geronimo."

"That means yes," Clara explained to the room.

"Well, that's settled then," Richard declared grimly, sipping some more mead. "Francis, I would like you to issue a call for arms- England needs defending and we must protect her. We'll have to start our royal progress soon, raise the motivation to stand and fight."

"Yes, your Grace."

"Doctor, you say that this Macabrius inside Tudor often escapes at the point of death, is that right?" Richard probed.

"It's true, but he has a weakness!" the Doctor pointed out. "He was using the blue crystals to summon the undead, breaking through the veil and what not... But what if I could manipulate the crystals to be able to summon him from within Tudor and blast him out of the world of the living?"

"Can you do that?" Ratcliffe asked.

The Doctor's excited grin turned into a frown. "Possibly, if I was given enough time and I learnt to merge the spirit of the Cryastium into something that could be lodged into Tudor to extract Macabrius... oh... but it would be risky, very risky, but do able... in theory."

"In theory?" Richard exclaimed.

"Well, I've never done it before, but never let it be said that I don't like a challenge!"

Richard looked from the Doctor to Clara, then to his knights before cracking a smile. "Very well, Doctor, do you have the tools and facilities? Good, then start as soon as you can!"

"What about you, your Grace?" James enquired.

Richard rose and leaned on the table, his face deep in thought. "I will convene with you all on the morrow. Lady Clara, could you make sure that Megan and Ed are in the tulip garden in half an hour?"

Clara assented, wondering what he could have in mind. He gave her a genuine and appreciative smile, which compelled her mouth to bloom into a smile too.

"There's something I have to do first," Richard declared to no one in particular, before exiting the room. He sighed, trying to remember the man he once was, hoping he could go back there and brave the pain.

He found Bess under the archway of a bridge overlooking the tulip garden, which was full of red robins and blue tits chirping without a care in the world. His niece had been leaning on the wooden fence, but stood up to face him as he entered.

"Your Grace," she said courteously, as if they were not alone. Her blonde hair was tied in a single braid over her shoulder, her blue eyes beckoned him, and for a single moment Richard felt like he was eighteen again, taking her for a very first riding lesson when she was a little girl. That was so many years ago, before he had become King and played his unworthy hand. The last time that they were alone together had been just before he had sent her away. Even since she had returned to Court, Richard had not actually talked to her, not like they used to. He had avoided being alone with her, there would always be someone there, like Cecily or Clara- lest anyone start whispering again.

"We're not in formal company, Bess," Richard reminded.

"No, I guess not," Bess responded.

"Prince Manuel also likes riding, chamber music, you know?" Richard said suddenly, leaning on the fence of the bridge. "He would like to learn to play the viola, so you'll have to teach him, Bess. He's a good man, he is young but surprisingly mature for his age."

Bess gave a weak laugh. "I was wondering when this talk would come."

"Are you not happy, Bess?"

"I have learnt not to expect too much any more, from anything or anyone." Those words stung- Richard had never heard Bess speak like that to him, yet the indirect and jaded comment was fully warranted.

"Bess, I know it's a lot to take in, but you're not alone in this," Richard began, but stopped himself from foolishly comparing his own situation and upcoming nuptials to hers. He turned and leaned his back, while he faced her and was next to her. "I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think it was in your best interests."

Bess smiled for once and nodded. "I know that, Uncle. Manuel might be good for me, but it doesn't change the fact that you're still sending me away from where I have grown up, where my family is, where everything good and bad that has happened to me has been. I'm not ungrateful, but you're sending me away... again." Surprisingly, there were no tears in her eyes, just resignation, which somehow made Richard feel worse!

He sighed. "Bess, do you know what I told your mother when Edward first married her?"

Bess gave him a bemused look. "Something clever, I imagine." They both chuckled, which made Richard's heart yearn for more, even if it came at his expense.

"No, I told her that I pray that she has a son so he could follow my brother's footsteps. I was a young boy, and young boys always crave the company of other males. Sure, I had Isabel and Anne to play with, but you can't rough house with them as much, it's not proper.

"But one of my earliest memories of you will always stay with me. Do you remember Matron Zuleika?"

"The stern and angry old one?" Bess said, raising her eyebrows. "How could I not, I still have the occasional nightmare about her!" They chuckled.

"You were only about two or three," Richard continued. "You came running to me, trying to hide from her."

Bess blushed. "I do not remember that!"

Richard grinned, enjoying this moment. "You begged me to hide you, so I put you behind an old tapestry and told the matron that you had run to the bailey. The way you looked at me then was something I can't describe, but it melted my heart, making me take back what I had told your mother." Richard moved in and took hold of Bess' hands, she gave him a shocked look and almost held her breath.

"I told myself that I would love you and protect you, as if you were my own," Richard said hoarsely, hoping that he would have the strength to do right again, and that this strength would not fail him. Bess' resolve was trembling, as her blue eyes began to water. They were the same colour as Anne's, if her hair was darker she could easily be their daughter, but no matter what she was their blood. "And that's exactly what I'm doing. Bess, my dearest, you have lived too much of your life being a pawn, fleeing to and from sanctuary, being messed with, being haunted like a ghost. I would have you be safe, away from the war that's about to come. It won't be easy, but if you're open to it you could be happy again. You told me that you used to make up happy endings in your head, maybe you can have that with Prince Manuel. He would be lucky to have you, and so will Portugal."

Bess nodded, letting the tears fall loose. Richard blinked back his own, he touched her chin holding it up and smiled. Forgetting everything that had happened, forgetting everything that had tainted him and his own honour and soul, Richard pulled his niece into an embrace. "It doesn't have to be now or tomorrow, you know, Bess."

"I know," Bess croaked, hugging him back. "Thank you, Uncle, I know you mean the best for me." She wiped her eyes and grinned. "Although, if things go badly with Spain, would there not be a war in Portugal?"

Richard laughed. "Not if England and Portugal are in alliance, besides if it comes to war, you'll have a bigger country to hide in!" Both burst out laughing, which resounded in the wind.

"Your Grace?" Clara called from below. She stood with both Megan and Ed by her side, both looking up with anticipation, their eyes wide like windows.

Richard sighed, hopin he still remembered. He stepped over the parapet of the bridge and jumped down, landing on his feet, almost buckling. A sharp sting shot across him, but he grinned. "I'm not too old for this."

Ed began laughing hysterically, which Richard only encouraged. Soon, all five were laughing in mirth.

"Who wants to do some cudgelling?" Richard asked. The children gave him an astonished, almost reproachful, look. But eventually both nodded eagerly.

The afternoon passed quicker than they would have liked, but that was the downside of having a good time. Richard put Megan on his back before charging forwards trying to joust Ed off Clara with a small branch, before spinning around and swapping.

Richard, at one point, plafully barged into Clara, who almost lost her footing, but grabbed on to him. She yanked him down, bringing him and Ed down roaring with laughter.

The King faked incredulity at her, which just made her grin, before turning to Ed. "Shall we teach them a lesson?"

Ed nodded eagerly, but before the girls could retaliate, all four were splashed with a bucket of lukewarm water, which still stunned them both.

Now it was Bess and the Doctor's turn to jape at them.

As the sun began to set, all six made their way inside. While Bess walked with Eddie and Megan laughing and humming, the Doctor, Richard and Clara hung back. The latter three were more sombre, watching their counterparts with a quiet contemplation, admiring their happy go lucky attitude.

"If anything should happen to me," Richard muttered, breaking the silence. "Take the children to safety. Take them to my sister, Margaret- Duchess of Burgundy, we call her Meg for short. They'll be safer there than here."

The Doctor placed a hand on his arm and nodded. "Of course, and Bess?"

"No, it's best we keep them separate for their own sakes. That way it's harder to get hold of them."

The main doors of the castle creaked open, a warm air and the soft sound of their footsteps resonated from the floor.

"Tudor will see Ed as a direct threat, he will show him no mercy."

"Richard, we will not let that happen," Clara pledged. "We won't need to take him, or anyone, to Burgundy, because you will beat Tudor!" She had to fight the urge to say "this time", after remembering that he cannot know about Bosworth. Despite the nerves, she reminded herself that history had already begun to change, that maybe a Yorkist triumph would be possible after all.

A weaving of a white falcon emerging free from a gold fetterlock caught her eye. The falcon was soaring through a lovely blue sky.

"I can't quite remember who that's by," Richard said, noticing her interest. They suddenly stopped by the weaving, Richard egging the others to go on and put the children to bed. Clara shook her head and beckoned him towards the children. Richard chuckled and relented.

"That falcon represents creativity, courage and guile, the breaking free from what is expected or the rules imposed by the fetterlock," Richard explained.

"Do you feel like that?" the Doctor probed. "Do you want to break free from the fetterlock?"

"Yes," Richard answered after a pause. "I want to fight Tudor on my terms, not by relying on men who may or may not support me, but I have no choice, otherwise those men will flock to Tudor rather than me."

"Then surround yourself by those loyal to you, let them be the ones you truly trust and rely on," the Doctor counseled. "There are many, and they will answer if you call."

"Thank you, but it's not just that," Richard said. "I want to run this realm by helping it to prosper and building it, not by playing games of intrigue."

"Well, maybe by defeating Tudor you can earn some of that freedom," Clara suggested.

Richard gave her a bright smile. "Yes, perhaps I can, perhaps we can do that. Thank you," he replied tenderly.

"What for?" Clara asked, grinning back.

"For this," the King replied simply.

They dropped Bess by her chambers and tucked Ed and Megan into their respective ones.

"Good night, Uncle," Megan had whispered, as Richard stroked her cheek. Ed had bashfully pulled the covers over himself and pretended to snore, fooling nobody, but they thought to humour him.

It was then when they arrived at Clara's chambers and halted abruptly and awkwardly.

"Do you have everything you need, Clara?" Richard asked, facing her directly.

"Yes, thank you, your Grace."

"Are you sure? Because if there is, all you have to do is ask and it's done," Richard assured.

"I know, but everything is fine," Clara chuckled. "Thank you, your Grace."

"Richard," the King corrected. "I'm always Richard at this hour, on a good day I won't be 'your Grace' until the morning."

"Well, I'm Clara at this hour and Clara until you do something to really upset me," Clara muttered cheekily. "Then I become 'terrifying nightmare woman'!" They both burst into a fit of giggles.

"Oh get a room, you two!" the Doctor snapped, before walking off. "Just get a room!"

"Doctor!" Clara scolded, going bright red and praying that there wasn't enough moonlight on her to expose her. "It's not..."

"We already have a room," Richard pondered.

"No, Richard... um... we... not really," Clara babbled.

"What do you mean? I have a room, you have a room."

"No, it... it's not important," Clara shook herself off. "Thank you, your... I mean Richard. Goodnight!" She smiled before waving and disapppearing into her chamber.

Richard paused, still baffled by what he had heard, before turning on his heel. He had a room as far as he knew, but he had to make sure, maybe the Doctor knew something he did not.

The next few days involved a vigorous training regime for all those who intended to fight. This involved a riding melee, followed by archery practice and a foot melee with a sword, axe, mace or spear alongside a shield.

The Doctor had insisted that Richard practise hitting moving targets from horseback with a lance. So Jack, Brackenbury or Baron Strange, Lord Stanley's son, would hold up a shield and try and evade Richard. Unfortunately, Strange seemed to be approaching this like a zombie or a child that didn't want to be here so Richard struck his shield every time. That was until Brackenbury threatened to kick him each time the King got his shield, which prompted him to be more alert.

"He's probably just upset about his father leaving him," Howard muttered. Thomas and William Stanley had asked for leave to retire to their estates in Lancashire to recruit more men for Tudor's invasion. Richard had granted it, but Baron Strange had to remain in Westminster. Richard knew how devious and cunning the Stanleys were, but surely even Thomas Stanley would remain loyal if Richard had his son and heir?

Meanwhile, Clara had been taken under the wing of Doctor Forest, a man short in stature but booming in voice and vibrant in energy and confidence. He had taken Clara to see a gangrene induced amputation and a childbirth on the same day. It was horrible. Clara could still smell the blood, smell the decay and hear the agonised screams of the first patient, while Forest ploughed through with his cut. She felt nauseous and couldn't help but tremble at the afterthought of what she had just witnessed.

Fortunately, Richard had come to find her sitting by a pond in solitude. He took hold of her hand and told her that he had just the thing for her.

"Archery?" Clara chuckled, holding up the bow and arrow.

"It can help to relax and steady your nerves," Richard justified. "Don't worry about what happened back there, I remember Francis bringing up his breakfast when he saw a condemned man lose his head."

Clara smiled weakly, sharing a thought of empathy for Francis Lovell. She also realised how close Richard stood to her and how concerned his grey eyes looked, the usual cold had melted away making his eyes seem almost blue.

"Are you ready, my Lady?" Clara nodded. So Richard helped her hold the recurved bow up in her left hand and handed the arrow for her to nock. He helped her pull the bowstring, filling her arm up with tension.

"Aim a little higher," he whispered gently. "Now loose."

Clara released and the arrow darted straight at the target, striking just below the bullseye.

"Not bad for a first time!" Richard commented.

"Thank you, your Grace," Clara said. "I'd like to try on my own, if it pleases you."

Richard nodded encouragingly and watched her shoot with fascination. She was special, truly one of a kind. How many women were kind, brave, determined as well as intelligent and beautiful at the same time. After four or five shots Clara finally managed to hit bullseye on her own. Her eyes lit up with pride, she grinned and skipped slightly before turning to face Richard.

"Are you impressed, your Grace?"

"Very," Richard replied. He opened his mouth to say something, but coyly kept back the words.

"What is it, Richard?" Clara asked.

"Clara, have you ever seen me play the lute?"

"You play the lute?" she smiled surprised, trying to imagine Dickon the Bard.

"Would you like to see me play?" Richard offered. "I can have dinner brought up for that evening, so you don't get hungry."

"Yeah, I'd like that," Clara pondered.

Clara found a silk lilac dress in her chambers later, which reached out to her. The radiant feel and shine made her beam inside.

Eve kept on giggling and grinning as she helped Clara secure the dress on her, reminding her about how beautiful she looked.

"That's fit for a princess!" Eve remarked, brushing her hair. "You'll be making a lot of ladies jealous tonight. I've heard it said that the King is a really devoted and attentive lover!"

"What? Don't be ridiculous, Eve!" Clara laughed. "It's only dinner, why should they be jealous?"

Eve's smile faded, suddenly she looked like she had overstepped the mark. "I'm sorry, my lady... forget I said that."

"What's wrong?" Clara insisted. "It is just dinner, isn't it?" Eve was silent and an unnerving feeling washed over Clara. Yes, Richard was a good looking and charming man, he was kind, strong and chivalrous, and Clara was excited by his company. She had blushed many times when he had looked at her, as if she was the only thing that mattered, or when he had touched her hands during archery. His story had really moved her to care deeply for him, especially since he had made the extra effort to reconnect with Megan and Ed. No, he wouldn't just try to bed her like a common mistress, it just wasn't him.

Clara considered cancelling, after all, medieval kings were not accustomed to being told no. Richard was different, he would understand. Plus it was very late in the day, it was too late to cancel.

Then Clara had an idea. After getting dressed, she went to see the Doctor. While his chambers were open, he was nowhere to be found. The TARDIS was locked tight shut and Clara was told that the Doctor had rode out on business. The words "ghost experiment" were used, but that meant little to Clara.

Relax, it is just dinner. This is Richard we're talking about, he would never do anything inappropriate to you, she reminded herself. Just smile and have fun, treat this as a dinner date with a cute guy you like.

"Lady Clara, someone is eager!" a voice called.

"Your Grace!" Clara curtsied. "It's nice to see you," she said, turning around to see Richard stride towards her. He was dressed in a blue doublet with leaf patterns in silver, his breeches were a navy colour and his hair was sleeked back under a blue felt hat.

"You look absolutely beautiful, Clara," Richard complimented, taking her hand and smiling. His eyes lit up with nothing but gallant attentiveness, like a true gentleman trying to woo a woman's heart.

"Thank you, your Grace," Clara said bashfully, surprised by the sincere compliment.

"You don't have to call me your Grace tonight. Will you walk with me?" He extended his arm and she took it as they began walking to his chambers.

"The Doctor came to see me today, did you know?" Richard grinned.

"Really?" Clara said. This was certainly news to her.

"Yes, he did!" Richard could hardly contain his laugh. "He was under the impression that I did not realise how special you are. He demanded that I treat you with the most chivalric respect possible and there is to be no 'funny business', apparently."

Clara couldn't help but give a light hearted chuckle. "There better not be, mister!" Immediately, she began feeling relaxed once again.

"Clara, I want to have dinner with you, because I like you and your company. I would never dishonour an amazing woman like you," the King assured her. "Are you OK with that?"

Clara sighed, beaming and feeling safe, feeling that her instincts about this man were right after all. "I would love that, Dickon."

"Good." Richard put his hand on the door and pushed it open for her. The scent of mahogany and wax candles flowed though the air. In the middle of the room, a rectangular table housed two chairs, plates, cutlery and a tray of boiled tuna that sang a lullaby of spices and smoke. Next to the fish, was a plate of steaming apples cut into several pieces.

Clara grinned. "Did you make this yourself, Dickon?"

Richard sighed. "I... had a hand in it."

Clara rolled her eyes, but allowed herself to be seated before Richard poured her and himself some mead and they tucked in. They talked quite a bit about their relative youths, where they grew up, their families and whether Dr Forest should be told that Clara would be coming back. Richard was attentive and inquisitive throughout and even asked about her friend whom she was babysitting for when the Doctor warped into her life.

"Shall I show you the lute then?" Richard said, after the servants had come to take away the dishes when the two were done dining. Clara giggled and nodded excitedly; Richard picked up a tan coloured lute from the corner and began to tune it as he sat down on the table with a foot on a chair.

"It has been a while since I last played, but I should be able to remember," Richard informed.

"When was the last time?"

Richard looked up and smiled wistfully. "I would often play for Anne, and our Ned, the last time was actually in Middleham, before... Ned got sick."

"I'm so sorry." Clara began blinking.

"Don't be," Richard whispered.

"Richard?"

"Yes, Clara?"

"Keep playing, OK? They can take you out of Middleham, but they'll take the Middleham out of you."

Richard burst out laughing, imagining Middleham Castle bursting out of his mouth; Clara was so endearing yet so strange sometimes.

"All right then, I won't," he promised. He twanged the strings and began playing. It seemed like a very folkish and merry melody that resonated from his fingers, but then Richard looked directly at her and began to sing those words.

_"You saw my pain wash down in the rain,_

_Broken glass, saw blood run from my veins,_

_But you saw no fault no cracks in my heart,_

_You knelt beside my hopes torn apart,_

_But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view,_

_And we'll live a long life._

_"So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light,_

_Because oh, that gave me such a fright,_

_But I will hold for as long as you like,_

_Just promise me we'll be all right."_

Clara smiled wistfully, blinking back the tears from her eyes and the depth of what it seemed like Richard was saying.

He averted his gaze to his lute and continued the melody.

_"Take me back turn south from that place,_

_And close my heart to my recent disgrace,_

_Because you know my call we'll share my all_

_And children come they'll see me soar._

_"So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light,_

_Because oh, that gave me such a fright,_

_But I will hold for as long as you like,_

_Just promise me we'll be all right."_

He had sang this verse quite somberly, and Clara wondered whether he was reliving his pain that he had shared with her and the Doctor again. It was difficult to tell with his eyes turned away.

However, when he looked up, Clara saw him grinning with a new sense of determination.

_"But hold me still bury my heart on the coals,_

_But hold me still bury my heart next to yours._

"Sing with me!" he urged.

_"So give HOPE in the darkness that I will see the LIGHT,_

_Because oh, that gave me such a fright,_

_But I will hold on with ALL of my MIGHT,_

_Just promise me we'll be all right!"_

After a few more notes, Richard ended and beamed as Clara let out a mix between a chuckle and sob. She dried her eyes and applauded, standing up.

"That was absolutely beautiful, Richard!" she croaked.

"Thank you, my Lady. Maybe I should try this on Tudor when he lands, maybe he'll do what you did!" Richard jested.

"Stop it, you!" Clara laughed, striking his arm playfully.

"Clara, you do know that raising a hand at the King is high treason?" he chuckled. "But do you know what also is treason, but of a different sort?"

"What?" Clara probed teasingly. She was now looking deep into Richard's blue grey eyes with her brown. He gave her a tender look that made her cheeks red and her hands tremble.

"Treason against my feelings."

Richard gently touched her chin and kissed her slowly but surely on her lips, gradually becoming more hungry. She kissed him back, absorbing his enthusiasm as he caressed her cheek and strands of dark brown hair.

They pulled apart, both blushing but grinning.

"We should probably stop," Clara giggled, her heart racing. "In theory, you are trying to court Princess Joana."

Richard sighed. "Technically yes, but Princess Joana would rather take vows of faith than vows of marriage. Clara, would you be all right if I came to see your family?"

"What? How would you do that?"

"The Doctor has a time machine, doesn't he? And if you've met my family, it's only fair that I meet yours, no?"

"OK, can't argue with that."

Richard smiled coyly. "Clara, I have had my selfish motives when I invited you to dinner."

"I know!" Clara teased. "You wanted to woo me, and you have to a certain extent."

"When I entered into discussion with the Portuguese, I knew that Joana wanted to be a nun, but my advisors have been badgering me to marry ever since...

"The truth is that I need heirs, but I would rather have a woman I care for, a woman who is beautiful, intelligent, kind and someone who I could fall for. I never thought I could find such a woman after Anne, but maybe she's right in front of me. Maybe you are that woman, Clara. Will you be that woman? Will you be my Queen, my love and my wife?"

Clara's breath caught in her throat and the realisation hit her, how could she have been so forgetful, so oblivious and so selfish? Tears came to her eyes, opening her eyes to the reality.

"Clara?" Richard's smile faded into concern. "What is it? Am I rushing you?"

Clara sobbed and shook her head. "Richard, you are a good man, a truly good man. I can see why Anne loved you and why you love her. And that's our problem." She smiled painfully. "It's not your fault and I don't blame you for it one bit. Anne is your one true love, you still lover her, you will always love her." Clara took a deep breath to compose herself. "I can't be Anne for you, Richard. I can't compete with a ghost."

The rejection stung, leaving Richard at a complete loss for words. But that's not what summoned his tears; the truth that he was trying to deny collapsed on him. He still missed Anne too much. Everything he had told himself that he loved about Clara had a striking similarity to his Anne- the woman he still truly longed for no matter how much he tried to deny it or fight it. But she wasn't coming back, not in the form of a foreign princess, not even in the form of Clara Oswald.

"I am so sorry, Richard," Clara wept.

"No, my Lady, I'm sorry," Richard managed to croak. "Forgive me, it was unfair of me..."

"No, Dickon, don't blame yourself. I should have seen this.

"May I be excused?" she asked uncertainly. She rose from her seat, but Richard remained sitting. He nodded, without looking up.

"It will get easier someday, you know," Clara tried to assure him.

"Yeah," the widower croaked, almost inaudibly.

"I mean it, don't give up..."

"Yes, I know," Richard said catatonically. "Thank you for this evening, but you may leave now." He began pouring himself a mug of mead. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Clara squeaked before leaving, not waiting to be told twice.

While Richard drank another mug, begging forgiveness, Clara hurried to her chamber. But both cried their eyes to redness before sleep mercifully took them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Really sorry if you were shipping Richard and Clara, but it couldn't have worked at this stage; he's not over Anne and she's not a fan of the idea of a marriage of convenience. Plus I though Clara would call him up on expecting her to compete with a ghost. Just so we're clear Clara never intended to do anything physically intimate with Richard while he was courting Joana, she only wanted dinner. She's not like that at all. :)
> 
> Please read and review.


	14. Ride to War!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard, Clara and the Doctor prepare to ride out to war, while struggling to trust one another and prevent history. Meanwhile Cecily and Jack encounter a problem when riding with Ralph Scrope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you all deserve a sainthood for your patience! Thank you so much for your patience and thank you to all those who have commented or followed this story.
> 
> Once again, I'm sorry to Richard/Clara shippers, but it just couldn't have been. But as you'll see from this chapter- he still misses Anne. :(
> 
> The whole incident with Ralph Scrope, Cecily and Jack is made up- though I can imagine it happening! Historically, Bess, Cecily, Ed and Megan all ended up going to Sheriff Hutton, near York; however, for the sake of this story I want to keep them separate. Also Michael Mason is an OC.
> 
> So, this chapter is about preparing for war! I am really excited, because this is two chapters before the Battle of Bosworth and I have a few surprising twists coming up!

"Don't blame yourself," the Doctor said softly. "It couldn't have been, and these things just are."

Clara sighed and nodded, while sitting on the balcony steps of the TARDIS. "I know," she said sullenly. She wished things could be different. Richard had taken to avoiding her since the last few days. She didn't blame him, but it just hurt to know that he was doing so well while opening up to her, only for her to reject him like that must have pushed him back into coldness, even if for a while. But what should she have done? Let him love her as a ghost? Not said anything as both of them descended into a pit that would give them a comforting thrill? All falls come to an end, and that's when the hard, cold and brutal reality would have beaten them like the ground at the bottom. Richard would never be happy with her, not truly once he realised who she was not; she would never truly feel his. In another universe maybe things could be different. Would he understand that? Did he blame her? The disappointment flowed over them both, like blood from a wound. Despite everything, he was still her friend and someone she deeply cared for and she missed him.

"He will understand," the Doctor reassured, with a smile. "And he'll come back stronger, more determined and as a fighter."

"That he will," Clara pondered. Richard had a country to defend and defend it he would with all his strength.

A message had arrived from Wales yesterday: Henry Tudor had landed in Pembrokeshire with an army of French mercenaries. He had demanded the Earl of Pembroke to declare for him and surrender that title to Jasper Tudor, but he had refused. Tudor, with supernatural flames, had burned down the castle and captured Pembroke's heirs as hostages. Haverfordwest had rushed to bend the knee to him after that and offer him their sword. Still, many of the Welshfolk had fled East or locked their castle gates, but many had learned from Pembroke's example and flocked to his army.

"I have something," the Doctor declared. He motioned to a long wooden chest. Clara opened it to reveal something enveloped in a thick white cloth, like regalia at a coronation. Her fingers brushed against the fabric and felt something stiff beneath. Carefully she picked it up, the weight feeling light but majestic in her hands. As she unveiled, the white layer and blue glow sent chills to her skin. It was a lance over six feet long, with a point skinny like a pin. She took hold of the leather bound handle and lifted it up, and the TARDIS' inner lights had a rival that illuminated the control room.

"Impressive," Clara complimented.

"Forged with a core of Cryastium," the Doctor said proudly. "If Richard can put that in Tudor, he has a fighting chance of drawing Macabrius out. You know how it happened, in traditional accounts?"

"Yes, Richard charged with the lance at Tudor, but Stanley decided to come to his aid. Not even his son's life could stop him, so how do we know he won't do the same this time?"

The Doctor smiled. "We expect him to do just that! But this time we are forewarned and so we are forearmed!" He jumped off some stairs and landed next to the console. "I will keep Stanley busy, until Richard can get to Tudor, Stanley will see Tudor is lost and will run, while I will guide Richard through the next steps. What do you think?"

Clara nodded. The plan was a good one, but it assumed that nothing else would crop up or that the Doctor would survive. "I hope that works... although Doctor..."

"Yes?"

Clara sighed. "I've never seen you so military like... are you OK?" She reached a hand to his arm. The Doctor smiled and squeezed back.

"Clara, I have fought in the Time War, back when I was forced to fight, here it's exactly the same- if I don't fight Macabrius will become stronger and rule another empire, not Tudor, Richard or Stanley but Macabrius."

"I suppose so." Clara cleared her throat, trying her level best to be hopeful and reminding herself that the Doctor knew what he was doing. "So when are you going to give this to Richard?"

"Soon. I have to make him understand that this should only be used when the time is right and not before. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to forge any swords with the Cryastium- I am very close, only a few more rounds of baking, melting and caramelising should bring me to Stage Three."

"Is Stage Three completion?"

The Doctor hesitated and grinned. "Close enough, nearly, very very nearly... but never mind we don't have the time."

"Unless you warp back in time," Clara suggested hopefully.

The Doctor chuckled. "I could but... timey wimey, you know?"

Clara nodded, despite having no actual idea past a rough guess.

"Shall we show it to Richard then?"

A few minutes later, they found the King in his study, his doublet was open and his fingers were drumming over his desk that was covered in parchments regarding this regiment and that regiment. He looked up and gave a slight frown. "Doctor, Lady Clara, what can I do for you? What's that?" His eyes wondered over to the lance that was covered in the cloth.

"Your Grace!" John Howard called from the door. "I have urgent news.

"Your niece, Cecily has been taken!"

Richard shot straight to his feet. "What?" He could not fathom how this was possible. How could Cecily be snatched from right under his nose, in Westminster? Besides she was with Ralph Scrope, his retinue of twelve men and Jack de la Pole riding through the Vale of Slough. Unless...

"Who took her?" Clara asked.

"Baron Upsall waited until they were far enough North in London, and Jack was knocked unconscious- he's all right but being checked over by Forest, before Upsall made off with Cecily, shouting about how England was doomed by the coming of the Red Dragon and he had to make sure his betrothed princess was safe."

Richard had no idea whether to laugh or flip his table over. If this were some play he probably would have been hysterical at Ralph's sickeningly love struck antics, but it was anything but a play. "That fool! That craven fool! I consented to that betrothal because I trusted him!" Richard was coldly livid. "I want Cecily, and his retinue found."

"Yes, your Grace, I shall lead a host myself... of thirty men?" Howard responded.

"They may not be back by the time we meet with Tudor," the Doctor pointed out. "Your Grace, we need all the swords we can get."

"He has my niece, Doctor," Richard said evenly. "He has kidnapped her, betrayed my trust and spread panic with his talk of England being doomed."

"I understand, but I don't believe he would harm her," the Doctor reasoned. "You can deal with him once Tudor is out of the way."

Richard breathed heavily. "All right, John, hold that for now, I need to speak with Jack." He turned to the Doctor and Clara. "I know you have something to show me; wait here and I will be back as soon as possible."

He hurried out of his chambers, with Howard following closely. They found Jack in the infirmary, in his undeshirt, sat on a bed, his hair a mess and a blood stained bandage on his right temple.

"Jack, are you all right?" Richard asked, concerned. "No, no, you don't need to rise!"

"I'm fine... Uncle... I'm so sorry... I tried to stop him... Cecily was screaming and demanding that Ralph let her go! He kept going on about how he had to keep her safe from the doom that is supposedly coming! I drew my sword and even injured one of his men... I tried to pull her away but I felt the butt of a pole-!" His skin was blazing and he was fidgeting restlessly.

"Jack, it's all right, slow down!" Richard urged. "It's not your fault!

"Here, get him a drink!" Doctor Forest handed Jack a mug of mead, which the younger man silently drank, which relaxed him somewhat.

"Did Ralph say where he was taking her?" Richard continued.

Jack shook his head. "No, just that the bloody Red Dragon was coming for England and... that you won't be able to protect us this time, that the North knew it..."

Richard bristled and had to take a long deep breath to contain his fury, which was the only alternative to fear: what did he mean that the North knew he couldn't protect England? Had he lost the North? If so, then what hope did he have for keeping the South? No, that could never be true, the North had showed him the most loyalty and support even when he had doubts. If it were true then he would know. However, he held back because some things were more important. "Cecily, how did she seem? Did he hurt her?"

Jack shook his head again, but cracked a smile. "He did try to gag her with his hand- not violently, but like you might silence a child from screaming and giving away your position to a robber or thug. She bit him! But I don't think he would actually hurt her." Then Jack seemed to see Richard's self doubt. "Uncle, Upsall is a manifest coward! Just because he is, doesn't mean the rest of the North or even the country is."

Richard nodded in partial relief. Although he was cursing the coward for saying such things and creating panic when people needed calm- an act of personal and official treason- he was relieved that his niece wasn't in any immediate physical danger, he was even proud and could clearly imagine her biting him- she was a daughter of York! Though Richard was under no illusion that she wasn't scared or panicking. Should he send men after her? Should he send men to hack off Upsall's head, or would that panic her more?

"Your Grace, how do you want to proceed?" Howard enquired.

"Send him a messenger, saying that I would be willing to forgive this act and continue my blessing, provided he keeps her safe until after the next upcoming battle, returns her afterwards, and comes and fights for me as he's sworn to do." Richard thought for a moment. "If he does, I might consider bringing the wedding earlier. But if he doesn't, then I will deal with Tudor and Baron Upsall will beg for the same mercy that I showed Tudor."

Howard nodded in assent. "It shall be done."

"Now, Jack, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, honestly! Just a knock on the head."

"Though he should rest a day," Forest recommended, to which Richard agreed.

"Uncle, there was a man who found me and helped me," Jack continued. "He says that he knew you and wanted to speak with you. I told him that I would let you know."

"What was this man's name?"

"Michael Mason. Does that mean anything to you?"

Richard pondered and wracked his brains, though he couldn't be sure either way. "I can't be sure, Jack. But I'll deal with him later, the Doctor and Lady Clara have something for me."

A few minutes later, Richard had his fingers on the lance that the Doctor had forged for him, and he couldn't help but crack a smile. The light of the lance could almost blind a man if he wasn't careful. Richard listened intently to what the Doctor had to say about the lance and their strategy. He yearned for detailed answers about the battle: who would declare for him and who for Tudor, who would live and die, but the Doctor simply told him he couldn't answer because if he did Richard would react and that could mess up the plan, which could put England's future in jeopardy.

"You ask me to trust you and follow you blindly, yet you won't tell me the whole story," Richard said coldly.

"We can't," the Doctor replied sadly. "I wish it were that simple."

"Your Grace, when the time comes for you to use the lance, and not before, I will guide you, but you must trust me and follow what I say!"

Richard was still hesitant. He didn't like this at all, he hated it. Hated the secrecy and the one way trust. Why should he trust if they wouldn't?

Clara looked at him sadly. "Do you know how we first met? Me and the Doctor?"

"No."

"He turned up at my door dressed like a monk and acted happy to see me."

"I was happy to see you!"

"Be quiet!" Clara said, not unkindly. "If any other man did what he had, I would have slapped him and run a mile; or in this age, put an arrow through him."

Richard chuckled, but it failed to reach his eyes.

"I trust the Doctor with my life," Clara whispered. "I also trust you, Richard. You're a good man and a good king. It's in our interest and the whole of England's that you beat Tudor and Macabrius.

"You know we have no use for anything they might offer us. You know they would harm Megan and Ed and I want to stop that!"

"It's not that," Richard confessed, turning away. He sighed. "Why is it that you're not telling me the whole story?"

"If a certain leaf hadn't blown into my father's face, he would never have wondered into the road, my mother would never had to pull him away, they would never have met, and I would never have been born.

"Little things can change so much, but changing huge things can have disastrous consequences," Clara explained. "I know you want to know everything, but if you did you'd want to change it all, but that would make everything uncertain and we won't be able to help you like we're trying to."

"I see," Richard croaked.

"I feel that I can trust you, Richard," Clara admitted. "I wouldn't have said half of the things I have if I didn't. Do you trust me?"

Richard frowned for a moment. Logically he had no reason to distrust them, what Clara had just said made sense. He knew in what situations they had been untruthful, he knew that they would have had to trust him significantly for them to say the things they had.

 _"Trust them, Richard, trust them."_ Richard couldn't be sure whether that was an actual voice or if it was in his head, only that it sounded soft, like a whisper at night uttered by the warm hearth.

Even though they were not telling him everything, something or that voice told him that it was for a good reason, almost like they were trying to protect him. He didn't like it, but he understood. "I do," he admitted. "I trust you both."

The pair breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at him warmly.

"So how is this supposed to work, am I not to rely on you for input or counsel until that moment?"

The Doctor glanced at Clara, before continuing. "No, your Grace, of course not. Just keep doing what you would normally do." The Doctor's face brightened up.

"If you're still worried about Stanley, remember you have his son, but if he's still tempted... I'll take care of that," the Doctor said, grinning from ear to ear.

Richard let out a brief laugh, this time the smile did reach his eyes for a flickering moment.

"A man, who claims to know me- more than as a his King- seeks an audience; will you care to join me?"

The Doctor grinned, as did Clara, before he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "A strange man who claims to know you? Wouldn't miss it for the world!"

Michael Mason was supposedly in his early twenties but looked a decade older. His hair was a chestnut brown, with a hint of a darker stubble. He appeared slightly shorter than he was because of his posture which slouched somewhat, as if he was at unease with himself and all those around him at Court. He wore an old teal coloured doublet which had been wearing thin for a while. On his hip, he carried a messer rather than a sword. As he knelt, a subtle round of whispers filled the Great Hall, the murmurs only paused when he spoke and a strong Mancusian accent came out.

"If it pleases your Grace, I am Michael Mason, your Grace may or may not remember me-"

"Trafford, 1478?" Richard guessed with a smile.

"Yes," Mason beamed with almost childlike excitement. "You remembered?"

"Of course," Richard said. "How are Anna and Gregory?"

"They finished their education, can read and write, they now help the whole village thanks to your gift," Mason informed. "They even taught me! My brother and sister are both very grateful, as am I, your Grace."

"You helped my nephew, I hear. I thank you for that," Richard said. "How goes the pony trade, if you still do that?"

"Very well, your Grace. I also trade in Yorkshire and Northumberland now."

"That's good to hear, tell me, what would you like to discuss with me today?" Richard pressed amicably.

"I want to help you fight Tudor, your Grace," Mason declared. "Does your Grace intend to issue a summon for arms in Yorkshire?"

Richard's smile faded. The penny had dropped, and the whole hall held its breath.

"I believe I already have," Richard frowned.

"Forgive me, your Grace."

"That's quite all right," Richard excused. "What makes you say that?"

"It's just that, my business contacts say that the whole city is waiting in anticipation for the call."

Richard curled his lip and nodded, before glancing at Robert Harrington and William Catesby- both returned a concerned glance. The latter had advised leaving the call to the Earl of Northumberland, as a sign of respect and responsibility. Only that it seemed like Northumberland preferred to sit on his fat behind, exactly like he loved doing. Richard found his thoughts passing over Cecily and Ralph.

"Michael, tell me honestly, what are people in the North saying about the upcoming invasion?"

Michael swallowed. "Your Grace... they are scared of following the way of the Welsh villages who refused to kneel to Tudor, but they hope for your victory, which is why they're confused as to why some places have got your call and not others."

"Thank you, Michael," Richard smiled diplomatically. "My message probably just got lost, I shall write to Mayor Wrangwysh directly and remind him." He signalled to James, Robert, Brackenbury, Francis, the Doctor and Clara to follow him later. "Very well, Mr Mason, Mr Catesby is in need of a squire, he will show you to his chambers."

Catesby gave the King a puzzled look, but the latter smiled reassuringly. "It's all right, we can trust him, just see what he can do and let me know.

"That would be all- dismissed!"

Catesby nodded, before graciously greeting Michael, while Richard walked towards his solar.

"That slimy piece of sh-!" Robert began.

"Careful, Robert," Richard tilted his head towards Clara.

"It's all right, I've heard worse," she assured, before continuing. "So, is the Earl of Northumberland considering betraying you?"

"The Earl of Northumberland considers betraying everyone except his own hide," Francis scoffed. "We should have asked for his son as well!"

"Leave it, Francis, I can't beat a man into loyalty," Richard sighed. "Have a call sent directly to Thomas Wrangwysh, and John Scrope- yes, those two men can be trusted, more so than Northumberland."

They arrived at the solar, before Richard put a hand on Clara's shoulder, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention; this was the most intimate he had been with her since their dinner all that time ago. "Can you find Bess, Megan and Ed? Tell Eve that they need to start preparing to leave Westminster with us tomorrow."

"With us?" Clara asked, surprised.

"That's right, we'll stand vigil from Nottingham or Leicester, but the children will continue with their retinue towards Sheriff Hutton, in the North," Richard explained. "Bess will be escorted to Norfolk." As he said those words, a chill fell over Clara, who had to check if the window was open. The invasion was real and it was coming.

"Yes, your Grace."

The next morning had dawned on Westminster like an exam or job interview. The sunlight darted in through the windows and Richard descended down a flight of stairs. The plan was to meet with Francis- there was a job for him. A plan which involved Jack de la Pole. Neither of them would like it, but Francis would accept it with less complaint and do his duty.

A gradual feeling of de ja vu fell over him as he ventured close to Francis' chambers, there was something about the way that his footsteps echoed that brought a homely feeling to him, or maybe there was something else, but he couldn't put a finger on it.

The chamber door was half open. Francis Lovell was kneeling on the floor, and Lady Anna Fitz-Hugh stood before him. Her mousy brown hair was plaited in a familiar way that if she was a few inches shorter, Richard could have easily mistaken her for someone else.

_"Richard," she called. Her voice was firm but gentle, her eyes warm and full of energy._

_He was armoured up, preparing to ride out to fight Buckingham- that turncloak who Richard was convinced, until recently, was steadfast and loyal. It had turned out that he had always wanted his own ambition and Richard had been a stepping stone in that direction. Buckingham had allied himself with Tudor and planned to overthrow the King._

_Even though Richard would never admit it, he felt scared, scared enough to lose sleep to his anxiety._

_"You'll beat them," Anne assured him, touching his arm. Richard nodded weakly. "No, I know you will. You're the bravest, strongest and wisest man I know. You will beat them both, you have it in you, I can see it. I wish you could too."_

_"Thank you, Anne," Richard croaked._

_"May I give you a wife's blessing?"_

_Richard grinned and knelt before her, while she gently pressed the sides of his face._

_"Come back to me, my Richard," Anne beseeched. "Take my love, take my blessing, take my faith and my prayer for your victory. Then come back to me, my love."_

_A surge of relief washed over him, as his nerves rooted firmly. He was no longer scared, he would fight with all he had and, God willing, come back victorious. He had something worth fighting for that was more than a throne or a claim- her._

Then he woke from his reverie and reality cut through him harshly. What he would give to be where Francis was, and for Anne to bless him, or even smile at him, just once more. She should have been here with him, making him feel blessed and protected, in a wholesome sense. She would know what to say, to ease his anxiety without even realising it. But she wasn't- because of him.

Richard quickly stole away, praying that neither Francis or Anna heard him. He strode as far as possible and rested his hands upon a bannister, as a lone tear fell from his eyes.

Some days were easy, relatively, where he was just too busy. But then other days the memories and the touches, the voice and the laughter would come back, as if it were as vivid as yesterday. Why did it have to be today of all days? Though did he actually ever want to forget? Forget the way she looked, spoke, lived and was until she was just a vague idea? That thought terrified him, but he couldn't dwell on that so he forced himself to wipe his eyes and compose himself.

"Uncle?" Megan had appeared behind him. She had a thoughtful look about her, her eyes wide and calling out to him.

"Yes, Megan?"

"Are you, OK?"

Richard chuckled lightly, and forced a smile. "I'm good, are you?"

"Aunty Anne used to bless you before you went to fight, didn't she?"

"Aye, she did."

"I know I'm actually coming with you, but I can bless you, if you like," Megan offered.

Richard blinked fiercely, touched and completely taken by surprise. Who was he to refuse her, so he knelt before his eleven year old niece and she took his head in her tiny hands.

"Come back to us, Uncle. You can beat Tudor, I know you can!" Megan said.

"Thank you, my love," Richard replied and he kissed her forehead.

"It's true, Uncle, you can gut him like a boar or claw him like a falcon!" Megan exclaimed.

"Megan, that's not ladylike!" Richard laughed, trying to be stern but failing. "I'll do my utmost to gut and claw him," he whispered mischievously, touching her chin. He almost cried again as another realisation hit him. Megan and Ed needed him, as did his other nieces and nephews, but these two more so. They had been orphaned from a young age, even before their mother had been sick and their father driven mad and paranoid. He and Anne had taken them in, given them a home- and now Tudor planned to rob them of it because they would pose a threat to him, should he win.

That thought filled him with anger, and a fire to drive him. Anne may have died, but her spirit for these children was very alive and inside Megan, Ed and himself. Richard still had something worth fighting for, and fight for it he would.

An hour later, three hosts stood ready to depart Westminster Palace, while being mounted on horses. Some of the riders were stewards, others were squires and knights and lords and ladies. The first host would soon break away from the others and venture on to Norfolk. This host carried Bess Plantagenet, who put on a face as stoic as she could muster, though Clara knew she had given a tearful farewell to her cousins and uncle, beseeching them to go safely.

The second host would travel to Leicester, where it would bid farewell to the third and carry Megan and Ed towards Sheriff Hutton, though its divergence would upset someone.

The third consisted of Richard, King of England; Lord John Howard, Duke of Norfolk; James and Robert, the Harrington brothers; William Catesby and his new squire Michael Mason; Knights of the Garter- Richard Ratcliffe, Robert Brackenbury, John Huddleston and Thomas Pilkington, along with George Stanley, Baron Strange and son of Thomas Stanley. Accompanying them were Doctor Forest, Clara and the Doctor, who carried Plantagenet the falcon on his gloved hand.

"Go on, boy!" he urged, jerking his hand up. Plantagenet cried out and soared into the blue sky and dived for his hunt- he would find them later at his own convenience.

"Open the gates!" Catesby ordered one of the stewards, who complied at once.

Clara took a deep breath, her heart was beating so rapidly in her chest. Each beat was a tick from the clock of inevitability. Though the exact details were uncertain, she and the Doctor knew for sure the location they were headed, the thought of which made her stomach flip with both anxiety and hopefulness, where the future stood on the tip of a knife- Bosworth Field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts guys? By the way, the "voice" will feature again in Chapter 19, which will be called "Heart of a King". Any ideas on what it is? The next chapter will be called " Dickon's Choice", and I promise you that Chapters 18-20 will be uploaded together, as I have 19 and 20 in their first draft. ;)


	15. Dickon's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard learns of a choice he has to make.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you for your patience! Technically this is a filler chapter and I hope it's not too rushed, but a fair few important things were said. Anyone want to hazard a guess as to what "Dickon's Choice" might actually be? ;)
> 
> There's a short scene with, you'll know him when you read it. This is where history starts to deviate!
> 
> Also, the line of a man changing his destiny is from the Last Samurai, with Tom Cruise and Ken Watanabe.
> 
> So, enjoy the read folks! Because we're not even close to the finale yet!

"Are you serious?" Jack de la Pole exclaimed. "Are you actually serious?"

"Jack, it has to be done!" Richard assured him, but to very little avail.

"I won't do it," Jack hissed.

They were at Leicester, with a retinue ready to depart to Nottingham, from where another retinue would take Megan and Ed to Sheriff Hutton. Richard had thought it best that Jack de la Pole go there with Francis, therefore avoiding the upcoming battle.

"Jack, your uncle, isn't trying to begrudge you," Francis sighed.

"I won't do it!" Jack snapped. "Tudor is threatening my House and my country too!"

"And would you have us gamble both of our lives? You are my heir, Jack!" Richard implored. "If the battle were to go south, would it serve York, or this realm, if both of us died?"

"Tudor is as green as grass, you are a tried and tested battle commander," Jack said. "Why would you think that you'll die?"

"I have to prepare for the possibility, Jack!"

Jack shook his head and turned away; if Richard didn't know better he would have thought the first sign of disappointed tears formed in his eyes. "You don't expect to win, do you, if you did you'd have more faith."

"Look at me, lad!" Richard urged, taking hold of his nephew's face. "Believe you me that I have faith and I want to survive! But I might have need for another army, which I want you to be part of, Jack. Are you prepared to play your part?"

Jack bristled, but nodded.

"Good." The youth grunted something about checking their supplies and walked away, leaving the two men to sigh.

"Be easy on him, Dickon, he was expecting to fight alongside you," Francis reminded sadly.

"I know, but you understand why I'm doing this, don't you?" Richard said. "I might have need for you later."

"Aye, but I pray you won't," Francis said. "In that case, Jack will still be disappointed that he didn't fight alongside you."

"Maybe, but there are fights more important than the battlefield that are equally crucial, if not more- it's a shame no one writes or sings about them.

"Can you help him see that, Francis?"

Francis gave a sad chuckle. "He will, given time, just come back in one piece, Richard."

"I will try to, Francis, I will try."

Francis nodded, before mounting his horse and cantering in the direction where Jack had gone, before stopping and holding out a hand. "God speed, until we meet again, Dickon."

"Until we meet again," Richard replied, shaking his hand before watching his oldest friend depart. The moment gave him chills and, for a moment, the uncertainty descended upon him like a shadow, but he waved it away with his headstrong torch. He may never see them again, but now was not the time to dwell on that.

 

Richard dreamed that night, of the bodies of Megan and Ed, pale as ice and blood leaking from their tiny necks like a rope had cut into them.

Suddenly, the view changed to a prison cell, with Bess and Cecily inside, adourned with rich and fine clothes and pearl necklesses, yet their faces were as gloomy as their grey and dark dungeon.

While the feeling of dread froze him in position, a shadow fell over him and loud squawk followed. He turned around, as a white falcon descended on to him with his talons outstretched, ready to nab him. Richard had zero time to cry out or reach for his sword, before he woke up, panting.

He was safe in his bed, the moonlight still shining in through the window. He shuddered thinking of, what he kept reminding himself, was a bad dream. He gulped down some cooled water and splashed the rest on his face.

Donning his breeches, shirt and doublet, Richard took a walk outside into the gardens of Leicester City Hall. He wandered over to a maze of French styled hedges, crossing those he reached a fountain in the shape of a school of dolphins playfully expelling the soft pouring water.

Richard closed his eyes; compared to his bad dreams this was music to his ears. He noticed a figure close to him. The moonlight cast only illuminated him a little.

"Doctor?" Richard called. But only when the man drew closer did he realise that he wasn't the Doctor.

"I am a Doctor, but probably not the one you were expecting," the man smiled. He had brown curls, his hairstyle was akin to Richard's, as was his height. He could have passed himself off as Richard's brother. If Edmund had lived, is this what he would look like?

The man's doublet was a greyish blue and he had a brown scarf wrapped around his neck.

Richard scoffed. Perhaps his weird sense of fashion was what got him confused, but the King couldn't help thinking it was more than that. "Who are you?"

"I am... Doctor Octavio, physician of Leicester, your Grace!" the man said, bowing slightly.

"Leicester only has one physician?" Richard asked, with raised eyebrow.

"No, no, no!" Octavio said. "I'm just the one you need. Am I right in saying you've been having bad dreams?"

Richard frowned suspisciously, but nodded after a long moment. "Yes."

"Here, your Grace," Octavio offered. He held a small glass vial of dark liquid.

Richard stayed where he was.

"It's a herbal solution," Octavio clarified. He drew another and took off the lid. "I'll drink too if it helps."

Richard sighed and took the vial. The solution tasted quite sweet and honey like.

"Tell me, your Grace, which King of England do you admire the most?"

 _Who would I admire the most? Richard I, Edward III, Henry V?_ "Does my brother count?"

Octavio laughed. "He might." He cleared his throat. "Your dynasty stretches a long way back doesnt it? From Geoffrey, to Henry, Richard and John, to Henry again and the three Edwards, to the second Richard, to the three Henrys and now your brother and yourself. I can imagine the burden you might feel on your shoulders, as if you are a version of your predecessors and you have to match their reputation and legacy, am I right?"

Richard felt slightly taken aback at this man's familiarity, but he sighed and nodded as he realised that this man was not wrong. Often he had wondered about how history would judge him, on whether the choices he had made were good or right.

"Do you know, your Grace, what a man's legacy is?"

Richard smirked, realising how philosophical this could get. "Legacy is how one is remembered by others and what sort of mark they leave."

"True, your Grace, that is legacy!" Octavio said excitedly, clicking his fingers as if they had solved a major problem. "But it's more than that. There's legacy, and then there's true legacy- how one really was, what choices they made, in public and private. It's our choices that define who we are, and our legacy because the truth has a way of resurfacing when we least expect it."

"And what do you think will be my legacy?" Richard pressed.

"An excellent question, but that's ultimately down to you. Whatever you decide, you represent yourself, your dynasty and your people!"

Richard smiled to himself, thinking that Octavio must be one of those who dishes out wisdom in his cups. "So long as it's not down to Tudor or the Woodville's then I'm happy with-"

"Please, listen to what I'm trying to tell you," Octavio beseeched, placing a hand on Richard's shoulder, which gave the King the urge to shake it off, but he just tensed up and relented for now.

"What are you trying to tell me, then?"

"Some have years to training to ease them in to make the supposedly right choices, others have their position thrust on them by chance and the result is often panic and uncertainty- uncertainty as to what's the right decision or whether you'll ever regenerate properly again and make it out alive. Sometimes those people are the best suited."

"Listen, hush... do you hear that?" Octavio whispered.

"Hear what?" Richard said, placing a hand on his sword.

"The birdsong, the fountain, the sound of peaceful serenity."

Richard breathed a sigh of relief. The birds had started singing, signalling the coming of the first light of dawn. "What about it?"

"Listen to it, hear it!" Octavio pleaded. "It will help you remember."

"Remember what?"

"Who you are, who you were, where you've been and what lessons you've learned."

"It can't be!" Richard gasped, recalling the first time a man had said those words to him. "Doctor?"

"I am _a_ Doctor," Octavio confessed. "We will see each other once more, but can't stay long, Richard, otherwise there will be a paradox! Though, I can help you this way!"

"Help me how, with what?" Richard demanded. What's with the riddles? Why can't you meet me with one face?

_"On the 22nd Day of August a decision is called,_

_Two choices both detrimental to the House of York,_

_Remember; to fall is to win, and to win is to fall,_

_This choice is Dickon's alone, what is your call?"_

"Let me guess, you won't tell me what choice?" Richard remarked. "Why am I not surprised?"

"That choice can alter the course of history, that choice can mark your legacy!" Octavio said.

"Your Grace!" Brackenbury's voice called from behind Richard, who turned around.

"Yes, Sir Robert, what is it?"

Brackenbury huffed as he jogged over to the King. "Who were you talking to?"

Richard opened his mouth and instinctively turned to where Octavio was standing not two moments ago, only to find the space empty.

"Never mind that! Is everything all right?"

"That's for you to judge," Brackenbury replied. "Thomas Stanley's son tried to escape, we apprehended him trying to get out while dressed as a servant."

 

Baron Strange awaited him nervously in one of the halls, his mousy brown hair was overgrowing to a mop, his eyes were bloodshot and his hands trembling with terror.

The Harrington brothers, Howard, Clara and the Doctor awaited with him, along with Catesby. All dressed hurriedly, but armed with at least a blade.

Strange dropped down to his knees. "Your Grace, please... I was scared... I mean you no harm... I just wanted to run... I didn't want to be caught up in all this... I-it wasn't my idea!"

"What wasn't your idea?" Richard demanded.

"My uncle, William, he plans to join Tudor, him and my cousin John Savage- I just... I just... wanted to run away from this... I confess it- I'm a coward, I wanted-"

"And what of your father?" Richard asked.

"Of that I do not know, your Grace," Strange admitted slowly, the words paining him.

Robert Harrington scoffed and gave a grim laugh, before smacking Strange in the face. "Do you take us for fools?"

"Enough!" John Howard snapped, causing Robert to be taken aback.

Richard cursed to himself, for letting Stanley out of his sight. He had his suspiscions when Stanley had told him that cold fever had got to him a few days ago so he couldn't meet with the Royal Army. Now it seemed that the Stanley clan were turning cloaks once more.

"I swear on my mother's soul!" Strange pleaded. He looked towards Howard and then Catesby. When they refused to meet his eyes, he looked at Clara. "My lady, please, you know I want no part in my uncle's schemes-"

"Do I?" Clara wondered. She felt pity for this self confessed coward, but could not fathom why he thought that she could vouch for his loyalties. Then it became clear to her- he was that desperate.

"M-my lord Doctor, you know I-I-I am no threat-!" Strange had turned his attention to the Time Lord.

"You should really stop talking," he said simply.

Strange looked taken aback, but wasn't relenting yet. "Your Grace, I know my father and he would never throw his lot with someone unless he knew he was going to win!"

"I think I know why he hasn't declared for Tudor. Yet," Richard said tersely, hoping he was right. "Lady Clara, get Baron Strange quill and paper."

Clara brought some parchment and a quill from a study next door and handed them to Strange, whose fingers were cold like death. He was quivering like a recovering drug addict, and part of her felt sorry for him, despite the colder and more rational part telling her that this man was desperate enough to try anything to gain sympathy or mercy. If she was right, then perhaps Strange may live.

"Write to your father," Richard commanded softly, yet the order weighed as heavy as a bull. "Tell him that his son and heir is still in my custody and I know of his brother's plans to betray me. He will bring his host to me at Leicester within the week, or your life is forfeit. Make that very clear, for your own sake, Lord Strange."

The letter was signed, sealed and Brackenbury had it dispatched to a herald.

"My father will not betray you," Strange assured. "He can't, he will see reason, I'm sure!"

"For your sake, I hope you're right."

 

"It is said that some things are written in the stars," John Howard remarked, looking at the deep blue sky that was decorated with seemingly countless embers. "Do you think there's any truth in that?"

The Doctor smiled grimly. "They're just other places, like here."

"What? You mean to tell me that there are other places just like ours out there?" Howard said, grinning.

"Millions!" the Doctor said. "Just like ours, but beautifully unique."

"I'm sure they are." John Howard, Duke of Norfolk, was a middle aged man and balding slightly on the back of his head, but in that moment he seemed as excited as a boy. "Listen, Doctor, if it pleases you, may I see just one of these stars in your blue carriage, I heard James say you can travel in it. I think that's fascinating!"

The Doctor glummed but turned away. His heart sank because James was not supposed to be conscious through his journey in the TARDIS, because he saw the excitement in Howard's eyes, because he knew the path of established history.

"That's quite all right," Howard said, shading his disappointment.

"We have to focus on surviving what's about to come."

"Yes, I suppose so." Howard cheered up somewhat. "Do you believe a man can change his destiny?" He hinted behind them.

The Doctor's hearts began racing rapidly as he realised that he was hinting at Richard. There was a bittersweet glow in the Duke's eyes. He knew!

"How do you mean?"

"Doctor, I've been around in this world for too long to not see what you didn't say," Howard said sadly. "When Richard asked you and Lady Clara who wins this war, you just said that any answer you said could never be trusted. I am not deaf to you failed to say."

The Doctor swallowed before thinking of Richard's new found determination- for Megan, for Ed, for Bess and Cecily. "I believe a man does what he can until his destiny is revealed to him."

"Tell me you have a plan," Howard beseeched.

"I do, but I can't say exactly what yet, it will change too many things and derail the whole thing. But yes, I have a plan, one that should work one way or another."

Howard smiled. "That's good enough for me."

Suddenly they were alerted to the presence of a rider behind them. He pulled up and dismounted.

"Thomas!" Howard said, hugging the dark haired man. "Doctor, have you met my son, Thomas?"

"Pleased to meet you," Thomas said. "I've heard a lot about you, Doctor."

"Have you? I didn't know that!" the Doctor admitted, shaking his hand.

"Do you want to see where we fight tomorrow?" Thomas said, brandishing a tube with a lense on either end. He motioned to a slight west from where they were on a ridge of a hill.

"Ambion Hill, they call it," Howard pointed out.

"Overlooking Bosworth Field, or as some of the locals call it- Redmore Plain." The Doctor recalled, as they had rested in the town of Sutton Cheney, how the locals described the field or plain that was the colour of crops that had been embalmed in blood. The night was too dark, but the morning would prove that to be true, as real blood would be spilled across this very plain.

"Speaking of which, William Stanley has camped towards the North, by the town of Market Bosworth," Thomas explained, handing each of them his scope and gesturing towards an encampment in the Northern distance.

"How many?" Howard queried.

"One thousand five hundred Cheshire hirelings, give or take," Thomas replied. "Look south. His brother, Thomas Stanley, is at Dadlington. My scouts tell me he has three thousand.

"Tudor is west, at Shibton. Six thousand men- most are from the jails of Brittany and Normandy, hired mercenaries and some Welshmen and other die hard Lancastrians, like Oxford."

"So you mean to tell me that when we face Tudor, or the several thousand year old... time alien warlock inside him, we risk being crushed by a Stanley on both flanks!" Howard was livid.

"I don't believe that," the Doctor said. "Remember, Stanley is like a diva picking their clothes, he's indecisive, he isn't going to choose a side unless there is a clear winner!"

Howard sighed. "You're right, if Richard can't rely on Stanley then nor can Tudor. If we can just keep him on his toes, keep him indecisive..."

"It's not just that," Thomas added. "Tudor will be fighting us with the sun in his face as he climbs that steep slope, as will William Stanley if he decides to chance with an attack! Leaving only Thomas Stanley to fight us through the marshes and we have his son. That means we have the high ground!"

Howard chuckled with hopeful laughter, kissing his fingers and looking up at the heavens. "Thank the Lord! Would that be enough, Doctor?"

The Doctor pondered that Thomas Stanley may not even care, that this was nothing new. He gave an encouraging grin. "If everyone does their bit and we're very very lucky, and luck has a knack for finding us at all sorts of weird and wonderful times, then yes we can pull this off!"

"Let's hope you're right."

 

Richard forced himself to sip some chicken soup, before hurriedly biting his bread. He wanted to throw it back up but resisted. His stomach was somersaulting. Northumberland, who had played the game of sitting on the sidelines so well, had written a letter to him denying the unmade accusation that Northumberland was glorifying Tudor and spreading panic amongst the North. He had mentioned that he had not lied about the might of either side, but had arrived to take up position amongst the royal camp- unlike Stanley, the letter added.

Richard had dispatched Michael Mason to ask Thomas Stanley to bring his three thousand into Richard's camp where his loyalty could be proved by action. He had ensured that Stanley knew what would happen to his son should he refuse. The night was making way for dawn, as a very faint glow could be seen in the horizon behind his camp. If he was lucky, the glow would blind Tudor once the real dawn came.

Richard had slept poorly. He had dreamed of a golden meadow, before the words of Octavio drummed into his ears snapping him awake. Two choices both detrimental to the House of York... To fall is to win and to win is to fall. He still had no idea what that meant. He had asked the Doctor, but was only told that things don't always happen to him in the right order, of how his friend had met a previous face, but that was her last meeting, but his first.

Richard considered threatening the Doctor, but relented. If he wanted to play him for a fool why would he take the time to forge and carry the white lance for the King?

"Your Grace, how are you feeling?" Clara asked, entering the tent.

"Like a man about to gamble with his life," he replied grimly.

"Don't." Her voice was beseeching but soft.

Richard sighed. "As you command, my lady."

"Gregory, my helm."

The King's squire hurried to the other end of the room, from where Ratcliffe passed him the King's helm. Clara saw the circlet that was cast over it and her eyes widened in horror.

"Your Grace, no!" Clara exclaimed. "I'm not sure that's a good idea." The Doctor had warned her about meddling too much in fixed events, of influencing the certain while they had a separate field of uncertainty to work on and manipulate.

Ratcliffe gave her a sympathetic but resigned look.

Richard raised his eyebrow. "Clara, if Tudor wants to take my crown, he is more than welcome to try. I do not fear him."

"But it's not just Tudor, it's Macabrius we're dealing with!" Clara insisted.

"And according to the Doctor, he has a plan for him, so I am just supposed to act normal and wait for him to advise me when the time is right.

"Do you happen to know what this plan is?"

"Partly," she replied truthfully. She knew when the lance was to be used, but was far from certain what to do once it was impaled into Tudor.

"Well let's hope the Doctor doesn't get run over by a horse."

"Richard!"

The three men gave her a cautious look. How could he be so flippant and reckless?

"I mean, your Grace, that crown makes you more vulnerable and easier to spot... why should we make it easier for Tudor to find you than he will for you?"

"My lady, if you don't mind me saying, you need to watch yourself!" Gregory said irritatingly.

"No, Greg, there's a sense in that," Richard admitted. He reached up and removed his circlet, placing it in Gregory's hands. "You can put that in the tent."

Clara smiled with relief; Richard, in his suit of armour, smiled and nodded back. "Stay with Doctor Forest, Lady Clara, do not seek us out in the main field until after the battle, do you hear me?"

"Yes, your Grace."

Robert Brackenbury, followed by the Harrington brothers entered the tent. The brothers flanked a gaunt looking man in dishevelled hair- Baron Strange.

"Any news of my father?"

"None as of yet," Richard said shortly.

Strange nodded uncertainly. "He will answer, I know he will."

Suddenly the pounding of hooves could be heard. Michael Mason had dismounted and entered the tent, his throat dry from exhaustion. He marched past Strange without making eye contact.

"You're Grace, I have spoken to Lord Stanley."

"And what did he say?" Ratcliffe pressed.

"He threatened to have me quartered before he listened to someone like me," Mason mumbled apologetically.

"Did you tell him that the King has his son hostage?" Brackenbury asked, looking at Strange who was frozen with fear.

"I did, of course, I did!" Mason insisted.

"Did he not care?" Clara asked. The men jerked their heads towards her and were startled, surprised to even see her there. "My lady," they muttered.

"Stanley..." began Mason. "Stanley told me to tell you that he said 'Sire, I have other sons'."

The room tersely held its breath.

"Lady Clara, I need you to take this scope and check for any sign of movement from Tudor's camp, it is nearly dawn after all." Richard's voice was soft and measured, yet was heavy with the torrent of what was to come.

Clara took the scope but hesitated.

"Now, please!" Richard said sharply. Clara exited the tent into the breaking of the dawn.

Strange had been trembling, but as soon as Richard had sent her out he fell to his knees. "No, no, no! Please! Curse him! God curse him!"

"Rick, fetch a block." Ratcliffe pulled up a chair and pushed it over. Brackenbury and Gregory kicked out Strange's legs and pushed him on the crude block.

Richard drew his sword, fuming coldly. "I, Richard of the House of Plantagenet, King of England, Third of my name since the Norman Conquest name you a traitor, a conspirer along with your uncle and father and sentence you to death."

Strange started weeping for mercy, the Harrington brothers swallowed and remained transfixed on the spot. Richard glared hesitantly holding his sword as it touched Strange's neck.

"Your Grace, I could do this," Brackenbury offered quietly.

_Two choices... both detrimental to the House of York..._

Richard took a deep breath. The blade picked up, a yell was heard channelling the fire against Tudor and Stanley. The blade descended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the next chapter will be called the Fields of Bosworth, and I repeat: it is NOT the climax of this story at all! ;)
> 
> Historically, Richard wore the circlet on his helmet into battle, and didn't actually get round to executing Lord Strange. They'll discuss that choice in more detail next.
> 
> Only two more to go before I can give you the three chapter instalment!
> 
> Any ideas what the "choice" might be, if it hasn't already happened? Any thoughts or reviews? ;)


	16. The Fields of Bosworth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So begins the Battle of Bosworth........

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your patience! As a reward you have a very action packed chapter. You will eventually find out by the end what exactly "Dickon's Choice" was.
> 
> Please be warned- the Battle of Bosworth features in this chapter and people might die, an not necessarily in the most pleasant way possible. Just putting it out there.
> 
> A big credit of this chapter goes to Sharon Kay Penman's Sunne in Splendour, for giving me a template, and also thanks to BBC's White Queen for... you'll see which line.
> 
> While some things are history, others are deviations and major ones. I won't point them out for this chapter though.
> 
> Please read and review. I hope you enjoy. I hope to have Chapter 17 ready soon, and the 3 penultimate chapters done by 22nd August. I have done 2 of them already. I cannot wait to upload them.

Richard growled as his blood stained sword touched the ground. The room let out a sigh.

"Gregory, I need you to put this in a bag and deliver it to Stanley's camp," Richard said, as if he was talking about a letter.

"Your Grace!" the whole room yelled.

"Thomas Stanley will definitely turn against us!" Ratcliffe pointed out.

"He has already turned against me," Richard said grimly.

"You don't know that!" Ratcliffe argued.

The tent flew open and in came Clara, John Howard and the Doctor. Gregory gave them a look.

"Your Grace, I would advise real caution," the Doctor reasoned, scanning the room as it were a minefield. "Stanley, by his very nature sits on the fence, and for us, today, that's a good thing!"

"He's right!" James urged. "Sending Stanley his son's head will only ensure he declares for Tudor."

"Thomas Stanley is laughing at us right now, he's laughing at me thinking I'm too weak to mean what I say," Richard said teresely. "Is he going to change his mind and declare for me? No, he knows there is no going back! I will show his men that if I make a threat, I will deliver it. Then we'll see what they really fight for.

"Gregory deliver the head; leave their camp quickly."

Clara looked at the Doctor, silently questioning the consequences. The Doctor simply avoided her gaze.

"Ready yourselves into battle positions." Richard was slipping on his helmet, as Gregory stepped out of the tent and on to a horse.

"Brackenbury, have a herald sent to Northumberland to assume battle positions."

"Right away, Sire."

"Clara," the Doctor called, as the others left the tent.

"Doctor..."

The Time Lord looked at her, his eyes were longing to tell her something, as he sighed. He smiled weakly.

"What is it?" she asked.

The Doctor reached into his pocket and took out a clear pendant. "May I?" he asked.

Clara was taken aback, not expecting a present just before this battle. But she nodded, thankful and touched. He put the pendant around her neck. Suddenly it heated up and buzzed with life. She heard a vibration under the Doctor's breastplate.

"Linconite magnets," the Doctor explained. "It will help you know where I am, and I will know where you are. Just for peace of mind."

"Thank you Doctor." Clara held the pendant in her hands, brushing her fingers over it. She wanted to treasure this like she had treasured her mum's ring. A sudden thought clawed at her heartstrings. She had thought dissuading Richard from wearing his crown into battle would secure his victory, but now that one change had caused another. She realised how uncertain the outcome was, how easily this pendant could become a memento for the Doctor as the ring was for her mum.

"Hey, Clara," the Doctor touched her cheek. "It will be all right."

Clara blushed realising that she was blinking away a tear, she cleared her throat to compose herself. She quickly glanced at the white lance that was resting in the corner. "I should probably keep that safe and find Doctor Forest."

The Doctor nodded. "I'll come and collect that from you when the time is right."

"Don't be too scared, Chin Boy," Clara teased half-heartedly. "Richard will protect your delicate frame."

"Don't you worry, Nanny," the Doctor grinned back. "Try not to put Forest to sleep."

"Hey!"

The Doctor stepped outside and grabbed the reins of a brown garron, before mounting it.

"Doctor?" Clara said, stepping out after him. He looked at her. "Be safe."

He nodded solemnly with a weak smile. "Geronimo!" He placed his helmet on his head and rode after the others.

 

"I can understand why he did it, but that was a huge gamble," Howard said. He had formed his vanguard on the ridge, William Catesby and Michael Mason riding next to him.

"But sometimes huge gambles pay off, no?" Mason said grimly.

"They do, but everyone thinks their gamble is that one," Catesby remarked.

"Sir, I spoke to Stanley, I saw his face; he had no intention of declaring for the King," Mason reminded.

"I think we're about to find out gentlemen," Howard said. "I see Tudor has handed command to the Earl of Oxford.

"Archers form up! Nock your arrows! Infantry in support!"

The archers nocked their missiles, as Oxford's infantry charged, trying to flank their foes on an uphill slope.

"Mark, draw!" Howard commanded. He raised an arm. "Loose!"

 

The Doctor spied the Yorkist and Lancastrian vanguards clash, raining arrows on each other, infantry lines advancing and pushing each other back. York had the clear advantage at the moment, with their highground. Lancaster tried to neutralise this with their polearm units, advancing in tight formation, trying to break the Yorkist sword infantry.

The archers were ready for them; a swarm of arrows descended like a thunder's rain and crippled the polearms.

Bang! Robert Harrington's cannons roared as they blasted into the Lancastrian vanguard.

Howard surveyed the opening carnage. Many Lancastrians had fallen for only a few Yorkists. He smiled grimly, seeing Oxford pull back.

"Perhaps we'll end this day in our favour afterall," he said to his son, Thomas.

"Don't speak too soon," Thomas warned playfully. His grin turned into a frown, as he saw standard of the Red Dragon in the distance. The armoured man, who it belonged to, was stood underneath and guarded by six other knights.

"Look father, it seems like we can tell the King we've found Tudor!"

"The hell is he doing?" Howard yelled. A ball the shape of the sun and the size of a wagon was forming above him, it blazed a hot glare. "LOOK OUT!"

The fire ball came hurtling at them much faster than expected as if being pulled by the Hell Hounds of Hades.

Howard mananged to rear his horse away; others were not so lucky. The blast tore into the vanguard, screams and the stench of burning flesh filled the air. The ground tremored and clouds of ash set loose upon them.

Howard found his mount stumbling down, as the smoke attacked his eyes, he was losing control and landed hard on his side.

 

Richard had to shield his eyes as the fireball exploded on impact against his vanguard, his heart froze in horror seeing countless men and horses roast before him. He felt nauseous; no human being could do what he had just witnessed! He shuddered, praying for John Howard and his company, for Catesby and Thomas Howard. He had no time to mourn them, but he cracked a small smile as he scouted the banner of Norfolk. That smile grew when he realised that Tudor had given away his rough location- if only they could reach him amongst his army! He could not afford for him to conjure another fire ball- he would strike now.

"Catapults! Support the vanguard, find Tudor- take him out!" Richard commanded, before his army cried out in affirmation.

"Your Grace, no," the Doctor urged. "Let me deal with him!"

"I need you alive for when we kill Macabrius!"

"I will be," the Doctor promised. "But that was Time Lord power! You need a Time Lord to stop that from happening again, but I have to act fast before he can conjure again!" The Doctor explained his plan as quickly as possible. Some would consider it mumbo jumbo, but Richard knew better.

"Go on then, Doctor, but come back in one piece!"

The Doctor grinned and nodded. He pushed his horse, which began galloping down the ridge. He drew his sonic screwdriver and activated it, pointing it at the roots of a few trees. He pointed it south, focusing on drawing the water from the marshes and pointed at a few clouds in the sky- this had to work. He could already see another fire ball being formed in the sky: the Yorkist vanguard boomed the command to spread out and ready to charge into Lancaster as a desperate attempt to do some damage if they were all to die. He could sense the fear in that voice!

Macabrius would need time and a lot of energy to conjure that fire ball, but if the other Time Lord could shatter the vanguard with just one more go, he would take that chance. Not if the Doctor has anything to say about it. He saw the fire ball pulling back to launch. He flicked his sonic screwdriver and a shield wall of freezing cold water leapt out like a fisherman's net. It engulfed the fire ball, which had been catapulted, causing it to melt down. The water wall came down hard on the Lancastrian centre and rearguard, causing a massive cry out of surprised foes who yelled in cold pain and stumbled to the ground.

The Doctor saw the Red Dragon standard temporarily fall to the ground along with the whole unit. It was only temporary, but the sabotage was a success- no Time Lord had the energy to summon another ball after that without completely draining himself to almost death- Macabrius would never risk that. The Yorkists cheered as he rode past, he found John Howard on foot, helmetless, temple bloodied and bruised, yet alive. They exchanged a mutual grin.

Suddenly, the Doctor found himself being set on by a group of lancers. One impaled his horse, killing the poor steed. The Doctor managed to pull his leg away before the horse could trapped him and rolled out of the way. A volley of arrows followed from the Yorkist archers, biting into the lancers' horses or the chinks in their armour- some took numerous shots before being unhorsed.

However, the Doctor's attacker wasn't done yet. He drew a battle axe and a hoplite shield with red and purple kites drawn on. "You remember me?" he called before swinging his axe, clearly not caring much for the answer.

The Doctor was shieldless, for his was still fitted to his dead horse, but he managed to parry. The impact jolted his arm though, and he was unprepared when the man's shield rammed into the Doctor, pushing him into the bloodied field.

"The name is Netrin," the man growled. "Edwin Netrin, Earl of Iswick! We met in Calais." But he was in no mood for chit chatting, for his axe came down and would have struck the Doctor had he not moved. The Doctor faked a strike on the shield, causing Netrin to raise it up, but switched to his axe side and catching Netrin's shoulder.

This time, Netrin's shield managed to strike the Doctor's side and send him down again.

Suddenly, Netrin jumped back in shock, his helmet dented and his balance failing. John Howard stood before him, brandishing his war hammer in his right hand. His eyes raged in a cold fury, his war hammer struck again into Netrin's helmet, only to be lodged.

Netrin cried out and pulled his bloodied helmet off. Both men circled each other and exchanged blows; Netrin had discarded his shield and lay in a flurry of strikes, one of caught Howard in the front breastplate, but the Duke of Norfolk fought on with his sword.

Howard slashed between a chink in his enemy's armour under the right shoulder and grabbed the shaft of his axe. He thrust his sword into Netrin's neck and shoved him down with a furious yell.

"On your feet, Lord Gallifrey," he panted, pulling the Doctor to his feet, nodding grimly, before striking another Ipswick soldier.

He then saw a crossbow man loading up on a parapet and his eyes turned wide.

"After him!"

Howard and the Doctor charged at the crossbow, swords ready to do some damage. They pushed past some of their own men, who were engaging in the fight and had no idea that this crossbow was summoning more of his unit with a whistle.

The Doctor had no time to think or reflect about his muscles burning, any other man might want to stop, but there were advantages in having two hearts.

Two more had joined this crossbow- Howard and the Doctor thrust into the three with a slashing frenzy.

The Doctor managed to crack a crossbow in half as its user screamed in terror and fell to the ground, begging for mercy. The Doctor fumed silently, he was done with him and turned to another, who John Howard had just beaten him to. He lay impaled under Howard's bloodied sword.

The Doctor looked up and a flare on horror came across his face. Howard seemed to be completely oblivious, but began to worry when he saw his expression. He then remembered the sharp punch to his face as he had rushed the crossbowmen. He felt the blurring vision. Slowly he raised his hand to his face and felt the blood gushing out- and then came the excruciating pain of a bolt lodged beneath his eye. He cried out in agony and fell to his knees having to be propped up by the Doctor. The more it hurt, the more wroth he felt, wanting to cut the head of every Lancastrian crossbowman in the field, but the more the pain dulled his senses and gushed out his blood flow.

"John! John! Listen to me, you've done your bit, we need to get you to Doctor Forest! Now!" the Doctor pleaded.

"Protect Dickon," Howard managed to rasp. He then pushed the Doctor out of the way. He had only raised his sword when a couple of shots tore into him. The Doctor saw the blood spurt from his head, as a bullet pierced him. The other struck Howard's armour but was enough to knock him over, expelling blood from his mouth.

The Doctor watched as two arquebusiers reloaded their guns. The Doctor dashed backwards, desperately trying to scout a shield. A mounted rider smashed through the two gunmen and a crossbow bolt darted into one's throat.

"Doctor!" the rider, who turned out to be Sir Robert Brackenbury, growled. "Send word to the King- John Howard has fallen- now!"

"Up here, Doctor!" Catesby urged, offering him a hand up to his horse, while carrying a crossbow in the other.

The Doctor graciously took it and pulled himself up behind him.

"Die Tudor scum!" roared another man in armour, he drew two swords and made to rush at the Lancastrian ranks.

"Hold it, Thomas," growled Brackenbury, latching on to his shoulder.

"Unhand me! You're a mere knight, I am a lord!"

"Will you listen!?" Brackenbury continued. "If you want to avenge your father, you need a cool head- listen!" He had dismounted, and with Pilkington's help was pulling Thomas back.

"Stay cool, and you will have a chance to avenge him, by keeping your life long enough!" Brackenbury urged, to which Thomas finally relented with a heavy heart.

"Go now, Catesby." Brackenbury nodded towards the Lord Chancellor.

"Where's Michael?"

"Already with Dickon," Catesby replied. "The lad had never seen a battle before; I sent him to get help when the fireballs came. Fine work, by the way!"

"Don't sing my praises yet."

The rode up the ridge, stepping above bodies of Yorkists and Lancastrians, all gaunt and cold without any discrimination. They darted back to the centreguard and dismounted before Richard.

The look on Catesby's face said it all. Richard looked away, a heaviness overcoming him. One of his most trusted advisors and ally was dead. The man who was like an uncle to him was gone, like Edward, John Neville, Edmund and Anne. Richard's grip tightened on his sword and fury boiled within.

"Where is Northumberland?"

"Last I heard, he said he cannot join us because he is watching the Stanleys making sure they don't attack," Ratcliffe informed.

"More like so he can stay on the fence!" Robert Harrington spat.

"Actually, you might want to rethink that," Mason said, handing a scope to Richard. "Look south, your Grace."

Richard forced a short laugh. "Well it seems, Northumberland and Stanley are actually engaging! They were sat still for an hour!"

"Let me see!" the Doctor asked. His excitement faded. "That's all they've done in an hour? Your Grace, they're fighting half heartedly!"

The men all begged for an opportunity to see.

"I knew we couldn't trust that scoundrel!" Catesby grumbled.

"Wait, Thomas Stanley's men seem to be a bit hesitant too!" James pointed out. "Let's hope it stays that way!"

Richard drew his sword. "Catesby, ride back to vanguard, if you can, you will help Thomas Howard lead it. Work with Brackenbury.

"Centre advance!" he bellowed; James Harrington repeated the command for all to hear.

"Ratcliffle, Harringtons, Huddleston, Doctor. With me!"

The centre cavalry charged like an avalanche. The broke into two factions- Richard Plantagenet leading one, and Richard Ratcliffe leading the other. Both scythed through the flanks of the Lancastrian vanguard, wearing it thin, slicing down the foot soldiers, gunmen and archers with their swords.

Then came the unit of armoured knights. Richard recognised the three dragons on fields of purple, red and white: the coat of arms of the Welsh knight Sir Gilbert Talbot.

The King sheathed his sword and pulled out his flanged mace, while Talbot wielded the morning star. Time seemed to slow down as both riders readied to deliver a blow- Talbot's morning star was a little longer, but Richard edged in closer to his enemy's horse. Talbot began swinging his mace menacingly, but Richard kept going. He smacked Talbot in the side of his helm, while taking a blunt thud from the shaft of the morning star on his breastplate. The morning star dropped into the mud; the Doctor rushed to steady the King from the impact and Talbot rode into another knight.

The Yorkist archers covered them as they pulled back to the lower ridge of Ambion Hill to survey the battle. Richard groaned at the pounding ache in his chest and shoulders and had to adjust himself. It was then where Gregory, his squire, found him.

"I've found him!" the youth roared. "I have found Tudor for you! He's a bit north, and very isolated and vulnerable!"

Richard grinned. "Well done lad!"

"You can't be serious!" Catesby shouted. "Dickon, please, William Stanley lies only a few miles from there, he will see you coming! He could attack!"

"Not if I get to Tudor first!" Richard responded.

"Wait, aren't you forgetting something?" the Doctor teased. "A little piece of equipment, maybe?"

Richard was grinning in excitement now, thinking back to his drills. "Fetch the lance, my Lord Gallifrey!"

The Doctor reeled his horse around and galloped back to the Yorkist camp. His pendant started buzzing and getting warmer with every yard and he couldn't help but smile thinking of Clara.

She sat with Doctor Forest and a handful of pages and squires, whose sires had been injured and they were now seeing to their safety. She was bandaging the torso of a man who had been impaled with a lance or spear.

"Clara!" he called.

She looked up and the grim expression made way for a little joy and grin, like the night that gives way for the morning. "Doctor, are you all right? What's happening?"

"I'm fine, Clara. The vanguard has taken a beating, Richard is reinforcing it... I... I couldn't save John Howard..."

Clara's face fell slightly, but she just nodded sadly. "And Northumberland?"

"He engaged with Thomas Stanley, although very half heartedly, I think they both were."

"Doctor, I saw that, but they're no longer there, I can't find them any more, they're not near you are they?"

The Doctor frowned. "I don't know, but Clara, listen- it's now time for the coup de grace! We've found Macabrius on his own. I need the lance."

Clara jumped to her feet and pulled up the sheathed lance and handed it to the Doctor, who grinned and nodded.

"Let's end this, Doctor," she beseeched.

The Time Lord nodded and rode away. He found Richard on Ambion Hill. He galloped next to him and presented him with the lance. Richard unveiled it, as his whole army froze in shock. Throughout Bosworth Field the white lance with blue glow burned in their minds.

"Presume that William Stanley will attack you when he has the chance," the Doctor said, drawing his sonic screwdriver. "I'll deal with him."

Richard nodded. "We have Tudor in our sight, he has blundered, he has taken a beating. Let's end this now!" He raised the lance for everyone to see its glow.

The knights around him cheered, saying "aye!" They readied their horses and charged at the Red Dragon's standard.

The ground quaked beneath the hooves and clouds of earth stepped aside to let the charge pass.

The Doctor activated his sonic screwdriver, drawing on the water from the marshes, drawing from the clouds that had started to form. He felt a drowsy sensation of energy temporarily leaving his limbs, but luckily was mounted on a horse. This would hold William Stanley for a little longer, for Richard to lodge the lance inside Tudor- that would be the easy part.

The Yorkist cavalry cut through the Lancastrian infantry like butter. Men fell back, yelling in confusion, fear and anguish, while the riders closest to the Red Dragon spurred their mounts to meet the charging York cavalry.

James and Robert smashed through some pikemen, who were routing. Thomas Howard, Brackenbury and the Pilkingtons overpowered a few crossbows and archers; Huddledton and Catesby battled a group of arquebusiers, by slicing their guns in two.

Richard could see Tudor forty yards away! He aimed his lance straight at his heart, he only had to move forwards.

Suddenly, another bulky knight with a battle axe came charging in between Tudor and Richard. The Doctor's stomach sank as he realised this six and a half foot tall rider was none other than John Cheney, another man he had met in Calais. He saw Cheney and Richard ride at each other like warring bulls, he tried to scream, but the words caught in his throat.

The Doctor raised his spear and prepared to throw at Cheney, he pulled his horse to a stop and braced for a lunge.

A sudden impact struck him in the side, as he fell off his mount with a cry, his spear, his hope and control slipping away. Richard and Cheney had just grazed each other with their weapons and were now turning to finish the duel with one final ride.

The Doctor pulled away and had to parry clumsily with his spear, that he had just pulled up again. The horseman's sword cleaved into the shaft, splintering the wood. The Doctor rammed it into his attacker's torso, taking down the rider but cracking his spear. The rider got up again and drew his sword. Before the Doctor could draw his, a loud gunshot attacked his eardrums. The attacker fell backwards, smoke coming from his torso. The Doctor looked behind him to see Michael Mason stood right behind him, reloading an arquebus. They nodded briefly.

A louder crack resonated the air, seeming to silence all the fighting and slashing around them. John Cheney was sent hurtling away, a white piece of lance impaling his chest. Richard too had been unhorsed. The lance had burst in half, blasting both Richard and Cheney down.

Macabrius was still alive, he laughed triumphantly through Tudor's mask!

Richard moved to snatch the lance from Cheney's lifeless body, his enemy was yards away- he just needed one lucky throw!

"Dickon! Run!" Rick Ratcliffe exclaimed. "Stanley is upon us!"

Sure enough, several Cheshiremen in red came running through with swords and spears. Many stepped over their stunned and shivering comrades, but the water shields had unmistakably worn off.

Thomas and John Pilkington had dismounted to fight them properly, but both only took down one or two before being impaled from all sides, the abuse continued moments after they had fallen. Several of their men stood firm, but were mobbed and trampled by the same men.

"A horse!" Brackenbury roared. "Get the King a horse! Get the King a horse!"

Richard cursed out loud. He wasn't going to run if he could help it! He snatched up a shield blazoned with the White Boar. "Doctor, with me, we can finish this!" He had to, all he needed was to pull out the sharp end of the lance from Cheney's body and launch it into Tudor.

"Get him, Rhys!" Sir Galbert Talbot said to a man with a halberd.

"Richard, no!" the Doctor barked, as Rhys and another halberdier swung at Richard. The Doctor nicked one in the face, while Rhys' polearm struck the boar on Richard's shield, carving an ugly scar on the design.

"Sire, a horse!" Gregory came with three horses and a sword drawn. He pulled out a throwing axe and lodged it inside a Stanley soldier. He pulled himself in between Richard and the halberdier, before he could do anything another halberd came out of nowhere and cut in between his eyes, pushing him into the mud.

"Richard, listen to me!" the Doctor beseeched. "He will kill you if you carry on! Not Tudor- Macabrius! Take a horse!"

Begrudgingly Richard heaved himself on a mount and called for a retreat. Many had to share a horse and fall back. Each man took a bow, arquebus or crossbow, and occasionally resorted to shooting at their Lancastrian pursuers. They were mainly foot soldiers, William Stanley's Cheshiremen, but the Doctor saw Jasper Tudor, Oxford and Talbot flanking and rallying their men.

The Doctor urged his mount on, climbing up Ambion Hill. Richard took an arrow to a bow that was attached to his horse and loosed it into a pursuing halberdier. Sadly that was his final one.

They all stumbled through the ridge where they made camp and were greeted by a thick forest. They only needed to cross that and get into Sutton Cheney in order to retreat to Leicester. Then they would decide what to do next.

Their Lancastrian pursuers seemed lost, but now was not the time to get complacent. The Doctor's pendant began vibrating steadily.

The Yorkist army dashed into the forest, but were halted by a rider wearing the coat of arms of three silver fishes on auburn- Northumberland's emblem. A platoon of pikemen followed behind him.

"Sir Ralph Percy," Ratcliffe acknowledged. "Where's your father, we really needed him?"

"Ralph, tell me what's going on?" Richard pressed, noticing that something was seriously wrong.

Ralph shook his head. "My father has always looked up to you, even admired your passion and strong held beliefs, which is why it breaks his heart that he must do this. Please remember that it's nothing personal, but Tudor is too powerful."

"Ralph, don't do this!" Richard urged, but it was too late. The pikemen lowered their weapons and charged straight.

Richard cursed and realised that he had run out of arrows. He desperately slashed at the charging pikemen, his rage for Northumberland and his son multiplying. He saw Thomas Howard being rammed from behind with a pike, screaming and dropping his sword. How could someone be a traitor and so cowardly? Was this how he was supposed to die now? He would rather that it was Tudor or even Stanley, for a moment he had hope, only for it to be dashed to the mud.

He charged through two pikemen, cleaving their heads, the Doctor covered him from behind, finishing another who wanted the reward for being the one to kill King Richard.

"It's nothing personal!" Sir Ralph repeated drawing his sword.

But like a God send, at that moment, an arrow launched into the back of a pikeman's knee, bringing him down. A round of half a dozen followed.

The Doctor looked over and smiled. Clara Oswald stood with nine other squires, each with a bow nocked with an arrow. Within seconds another round was shot, distracting Ralph Percy's men long enough for the Yorkists to charge through with hope and gratitude driving their mounts forward.

The Doctor saw Michael Mason hauling a wounded Thomas Howard on his horse and riding for home. He saw Brackenbury throw his sword into Sir Ralph's neck and then snatching it as he rode past. He yanked so hard that Ralph's neck ruptured blood as it almost came off.

The Time Lord pulled Clara up behind him, thankful to see her, almost as thankful as she was to see him. "What's happened? Where's the lance?"

"John Cheney happened, I should have seen it, how could I not have?" the Doctor said. "The lance broke!"

A falcon cry could be heard above, and in the distance they could see a small figure, leading them like star leading ships on a dark night. Richard had advanced to the front and it seemed like only John Huddleston was the only one they recognised near them amongst the herd of horses and riders.

"Don't beat yourself up, you couldn't have known," Clara said. "What happens now?"

"We get back to Leicester and think of Plan B."

"What's Plan B?" Clara enquired.

"I don't know, that's why I said we'll think of it!" the Doctor said.

Clara rolled her eyes. _You're so encouraging, Doctor!_ But she felt his heaviness and kept quiet.

There was a huge parapet of a fallen tree in front of them after a ditch. Clara winced slightly, as the edges of the Doctor's armour bit into her bare fingers.

"You think I can jump this?" the Doctor grinned, trying to lighten up the situation. Without waiting for an answer he caused the mount to leap with all its energy.

"Doctor!" Clara cried, her hands slipping from him. The horse jumped, the Doctor landed, his teeth biting his tongue. He cried out, not only in pain, but also in utter shock. Time seemed to freeze as a stampede of horses running for their lives overtook Clara Oswald, who lay in the mud by the ditch. He tried to to reel his horse around, to rescue her before Percy or the Lancastrian men found her.

John Huddleston grabbed him and pulled him and his horse forward. "It's too late, Doctor!"

"No, get off!" the Doctor demanded at Huddleston and his own horse. At that moment, Catesby had decided to interfere, helping Huddleston to steer the Doctor's mount forwards, the horse neighed against the Doctor's wishes and galloped ahead, running from the battle, running from Clara.

Catesby was trying to restrain the Doctor, promising to avenge Clara, apologising about it being too late. The Doctor was deaf and furious to his words. The cursed fallen tree and Clara had disappeared into the horizon. The day was truly lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, we lost John Howard and a number of others. We lost Clara too it seems and the lance broke! How many of those did you see coming?
> 
> This would be a good end to a second episode of a three episode arc I think. This is where our prologue began, if you remember. The next chapter will be called "Loyaulte Me Lie", meaning Loyalty Binds Me- Richard's personal motto. I will get this one done ASAP so I can upload the 3 penultimate ones by 22nd August (the 530th anniversary of the Battle of Bosworth) and I am so excited!
> 
> Please review. :)


	17. Loyaulte Me Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Put aside the Boar, Richard, and become the Falcon. Lead you House, soar and define what it means to be Richard Plantagenet, son of York!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, you're not hallucinating! I have actually updated! This chapter is called Loyaulte Me Lie, and it's much shorter than most, but I still hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Richard meets another familiar face, makes a choice and officially becomes a companion! Guess at which point! :)

Open the gate!" James ordered.

The gate of Leicester City was rolled open with an ancient groan, as a platoon of horses entered bearing bruised and battered men. All wore a solemn expression as they trooped into the city, which was full of women, children and older folk, who had anxiously stepped out of their homes to beg for answers.

"Where is the King?" asked an onlooker.

"He is here," Richard declared. But was he really, after all his crown was in a tent in Bosworth, or even on Tudor's head by now?

He descended from his horse and walked amidst the crowd. He sighed. Something needed to be done. He pushed the thought of Clara from his mind- she didn't deserve this. She was too young to be caught up in this war, and a woman, nonetheless. Not that women were weak- he would have to be a fool to think that after knowing Anne and Clara. Richard was furious when he had found out that Clara had fallen, and in the heat of the moment Catesby and Huddleston had pulled the Doctor away, as if it was the only cold, logical and viable thing to do.

"Henry Tudor will be here by tomorrow morning!" the King declared. "By Royal Decree, I order all the citizens to evacuate." The crowd began a gasp of panic. There were cries of desperate sadness, gushing like blood from a wound.

"Enough!" roared the King. The crowd fell silent, his air of calmness returned. "My men will help you to evacuate and make for safer cities. Tudor will want to finish with me, so I will prepare for siege!" With that he ordered the controlled and orderly dispersion of the citizens, as Edmund Pilkington helped them find a carriage out of the city to head somewhere safe. He was then ordered to ride for Nottingham, and bring Francis Lovell.

There were rows of hundreds of people being wheeled out, like an army of ants. The physician was hovering around the remaining soldiers, dusting their cuts and minor injuries; they would need all their depleting stamina had to offer.

Richard sighed, pondering the fate of all these men. Bosworth had been a disaster, when Tudor would arrive the city would be starved, burnt and utterly destroyed, because the real victor was someone far more ruthless and terrible than Tudor, who Richard had failed to kill. Their situation was hopeless and the men saw it. Richard had no idea how to sort that one

Suddenly, he forgot about his own worries as he saw the Doctor, lose his cool demeanour and pace around the abandoned courtyard nervously; his hair messy, unlike its usual sleek form.

"Doctor!" the King called, striding over to him and placing a hand on his shaking arm. "Are you all right?" But that was a stupid question, for even without the Doctor's heartbroken eyes it was obvious that he was not. The King even knew why he was not all right and he understood.

"It's all my fault!" the Doctor shuddered. "I-I should have..."

"Doctor, there's nothing you can do, I'm afraid," the King said hoarsely. "Catesby says it's too late, we can avenge her, get justice for her!"

The mention of Catesby's name brought a momentary flicker of anger. "What are they doing to her?" the Doctor demanded. "I should have got her another horse! If I wasn't too busy BEING A SHOW OFF!"

"Doctor, please, lower your voice!" the King growled, but his anger subsided for a sentimental look in his eyes- not pity, but empathy. "It will do you or no one any good to persist in blaming yourself."

"Richard, please..." begged the Doctor. "We need to save her, even if it's me who has to go! She doesn't deserve this... none of it..."

"I know," the King croaked. "I know." He exhaled and swallowed. "Doctor, I will ride out with you, but you are aware of what you are asking me to do, aren't you?"

The Doctor's words were caught in his dry throat. He knew what this meant, and so did the King, but there was no anger in the latter's voice, just a touch of resignation. The Doctor nodded. "Yes, your Grace... I am sorry."

The King waved away the apology and a part of his mouth uplifted into a faint and grim smile. "Very well, but I need you to tell me the whole truth now! Hold nothing back, no matter what!"

The Doctor nodded.

Richard listened intently, and when the Doctor was done, he said: "How on Earth are we going to defeat Macabrius now?"

The Doctor sighed. "I'll see if I can use the work I have so far to forge a Cryastium dagger for you to strike Tudor with."

"Was I right?" Richard said abruptly.

"Sorry?"

"Was I right to kill Baron Strange for his father's betrayal? Because I hoped to get Tudor, I hoped to vanquish Macabrius, but maybe... this is God's way of telling me I made the wrong choice."

The Doctor sighed. "It was a tough decision either way, but trust me: it had no bearing on William Stanley betraying you."

"I suppose you're right," Richard said quietly. "But right now, Edmund Pilkington has lost two brothers, Thomas lost his father and is seriously wounded, hundreds of parents, siblings, spouses and kin will have to be told their loved ones died following my orders." Richard turned away, at that moment Plantagenet the falcon circled the blue sky and descended on a perch near them. He almost glared at Richard, prompting the two men to smile weakly.

Richard reached to stroke the bird on its head, the falcon closed his eyes, as if it was basking in serenity. "Do you know when I felt the most pride, Doctor?"

"At Middleham?" the Doctor offered.

"Not just that, but when I was building the North, hearing the concerns, doing something to ease those concerns, even though in the short term my actions might not increase my purse. There were always short sighted people who could not comprehend why I would invest in people rather than keep the wealth myself and squandor it like many lords do.

"Ever since becoming king, I have many difficult choices, I still don't know if they're right," Richard continued. "But someone recently told me that it's our choices that define who we are and our legacy. I know I might die- if I must die then I want to do it saving a brave girl who doesn't deserve to die- I want to do it saving Clara Oswald- if it means I earn what I want. Just tell me there is a fighting chance she's alive and we can take out Macabrius!"

The Doctor nodded surprisingly, and hugely moved. This man had a greater heart than he realised; the Doctor realised how right he might be in trusting Richard like he couldn't trust himself. "Yes, your Grace. If I can..." He rushed to where his TARDIS was parked.

Richard was about to protest, but just followed him. He opened the doors to the Doctor's hut. "What the...?"

The Doctor discreetly cracked a weak smile.

"Your carriage, it's... when James told me this was bigger on the inside he wasn't jesting, was he?" Richard said, gaping at the walls of sea green decorated in blue circles, like shields on a wall. There was a huge metallic pillar surrounded by a table of some sort in the middle of the room.

"Why wasn't this used in the battle?" Richard said abruptly.

The Doctor had connected his pendant to a nodule, but now looked up. "She's not a carriage, your Grace, she is a living sentient thing, I can't make her go anywhere she doesn't want to take me."

"She?"

"Yes, she is a TARDIS- Time and Relative Dimension in Space," the Doctor patted the console proudly.

"Time and Relative what?" Richard blurted out.

"Dimension in space. She decided that Clara and I should arrive at Middleham 1485, we were actually heading 600 years after we landed."

"So she brought you here for a reason? Was that Macabrius?" Richard probed.

"I think that may have been part of it, I don't know, but right now- I'm tracking the twin linconite signal from my pendant- Clara has the other- and it shows a transmission coming from north of where we were: Market Bosworth."

"That's where Clara is held?" Richard asked. "Is she alive?"

The Doctor was looking at a screen where a picture was moving, it looked like a city, with buildings, roads, town wall and multiple figures marked with a red rose. "She is guarded by approximately seventy-five Lancastrian soldiers."

"But this is accurate, is it?" Richard pondered, pacing the console room. "Is this an accurate estimation and layout of where Clara is held?"

"Very," the Doctor agreed.

"That makes our job easier, we will have to literally sneak in, take her and leave, but... what of Macabrius?"

"I'll work on a dagger, by the way, you'll need these." The Doctor opened a drawer and pulled out a handful of yellow particles, swimming like tadpoles. He poured them over Richard, like talcum powder.

Richard suddenly felt a burst of energy; every cramp or pain he was feeling vanished. His armour still had dirt and dents in, but his body was rejuvenation.

"Nanogene particles," the Doctor grinned. He turned to his screen that began vibrating, he gaped at it surprised, but smiled.

"I think someone is here to see you, your Grace," he prompted. The screen showed a view of what was outside.

"Another one?" Richard asked. "Another one? Whose is it? One of your friends or other faces?"

"Have a look."

Richard exited the TARDIS, only to find another right outside. Another sentient box that could do all the things a crystal ball from one of those folk legends could. This one was more worn and greyer, but the inside looked like a candle lit solar, with the metalic pillar and table.

"Your Grace!" a voice called. A brown haired man stepped out, someone who had promised to meet Richard one more time.

"Octavio," Richard acknowledged. "What was so urgent you decided to grace me with your prescence?"

Octavio chuckled. "Commiserations on Bosworth, but apparently it's not over yet."

"How do you know?" Richard said, raising an eyebrow.

"I wish I could say: time is a whole nexus of connections and I have been prewarned, or because that was me you were just talking to, but I knew you would make this choice, I have always known you would."

"And is this the choice, then? The choice that's detrimental to the House of York, or was that executing Strange, or charging at Tudor, or taking a horse? What is the choice?"

Octavio looked at him sadly. "You will know without a doubt what that choice is, you will not need to ask when it comes."

Richard scoffed. "Well, what about this one, do you think this is the right one?"

"It's not something that most kings will do," Octavio admitted. "But you are not most kings, you are breaking free from that. You remember what I told you, don't you?"

"About our choices defining our legacy?"

"Yes, you are deciding what a York Plantagenet would do, so no one cares if most kings would do something else- your choice is just as viable, if not more so."

"Thank you," Richard mumbled. "But why are you here, why now? Surely not to give me a pep talk you could have given me with your other face, so why this one?"

Octavio smiled. He motioned to where the other TARDIS was. "I told you I had not enough time to create loads of Cryastium weapons. What if I were to tell you that I forgot that I started work a long long time ago?"

A chill tremored through Richard as he dared to hope that he understood correctly what he thought he had just heard.

"And now this chance meeting has triggered my memory." Octavio motioned his sonic screwdriver to a corner and a light illuminated the stand. It was a breastplate coated in blue with a white falcon embossed on. There were paldrons and gauntlets as well, and a blue cloak rested behind it, along with a buckler, a curved dagger and a mace next to a bow with a quiver full of arrows.

Octavio pulled up a sheathed sword with a falcon shaped pommel. Richard slowly edged towards it, but with a quick surge in confidence pulled the white blade that glowed blue.

"Forged with melted Cryastium, just like those arrow heads and that dagger, Richard," Octavio declared. "Put aside the Boar, Richard, and become the Falcon. Lead your House, soar and define what it means to be Richard Plantagenet, son of York!"

Richard's eyes lit up, his somber expresssion unable to mask his happiness. "This will work? Why didn't you give me this before?"

"Timing is everything, your Grace," Octavio said. "Nothing can happen before it's time- I couldn't remember before it was time, Clara's parents couldn't meet before, you would not have been born, matured or married Anne before it's time and be the man you are now."

Richard nodded, his heart racing with determination. Was this the key to taking out Macabrius and saving Clara? "Are there any more secrets I should know about? Do I have a hidden ability to turn into a big falcon, or an army hidden somewhere only you know about?"

Octavio chuckled. "Only that there are more of what you're holding. Show me that and the lock on my memory will turn."

With that, Richard thanked him. He pulled off his battered armour and sword, before donning his new armour, cloak and arms. He nodded at Octavio before stepping into the outside world, stepping out as the White Falcon about to rise from his nest.

Minutes later, the King stood in the city square, his men gathered around him, luckily Thomas Howard was diagnosed well enough to walk around with his arm in a sling.

"Your Grace, that's very magnanimous of you, but you will be risking your life," Ratcliffe said. "Of course, I feel for Lady Clara, I would have gladly turned my horse around, but what's done is done, if you fail that would be the end of us all!" A murmur of assent broke out.

Richard held up his hand and the crowd fell silent. "If I stay here and wait for Tudor to come to me, we're dead anyway, but somewhere in Market Bosworth they are holding Clara Oswald, they also have Tudor with only seventy-five Lancastrian soldiers."

"I hope you know what you're dragging him into," Brackenbury said shortly to the Doctor.

"This is not the Doctor's choice," Richard corrected. "It's mine. This is what I have to do. I will go with the Doctor into Market Bosworth, I will bring Clara back, I will stab Tudor with this!" He drew his new sword that emitted its signature blue like a starlight. At that moment Plantagenet swooped down and perched himself on the King's glove as if pledging his service.

"I will draw out Macabrius and defeat him, or die in the attempt," Richard declared. "I only need a few. Who else is with me?"

For a moment, all was silent. Then William Catesby made the first move to step up to the platform, looking apologetically at the Doctor.

Then it was the two Harrington brothers. "Wherever you go, we follow," James murmured.

Ratcliffe and Mason were next to step forwards, followed by Huddleston. Brackenbury stared deeply at the Doctor and then at Richard. He inhaled and marched forwards, for a moment it seemed like he was going to fight. But he gripped the Doctor's shoulder, he had slapped him so hard it almost hurt. "Get into a fresh suit, this will not do." For a moment, the Doctor saw a twinkle in his eye. Both men nodded to each other.

"Geronimo!" Brackenbury growled with a subtle but definate smile.

"Will that be enough?" Richard asked, pleased with the turnout.

The Doctor remembered the new blue cloaked mail and armour and swords, daggers, axes and arrows he had forgotten about- any one of them with the potential to draw out Macabrius (though defeating him was another issue). The streets of Market Bosworth would be too narrow for field trained soldiers who would be either drunk, injured or worn out.

"That's more than enough!" he answered, sounding more confident than he was. "Let's make them run! Bosworth is far from over!"

"Aye!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Now comes the finale we've all been waiting for! So 9 men and a falcon are going to venture into Market Bosworth to save Clara and kill Macabrius- what could possibly go wrong?
> 
> Anyone wants to guess what "Dickon's Choice" might/should be? ;)
> 
> I hope to have the next 3 up by 22nd August 2015. Chapter 18 will be "Return to Bosworth"; Chapter 19- "Heart of a King"; Chapter 20- "Bring Him Home".


	18. Return to Bosworth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The truth is, people, I am not going to let another innocent life be lost because I am too busy playing politics," Richard said simply. _There will be no Lady in the Tower, or Market, or Town or City, or Square._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are either fictional or historical, any resemblance to a living and real person is likely coincidental. ;)

The other companions all gave the usual reaction to the size of the inside, but the Doctor had no time to dwell on that. Feeding them the nanogene particles to rejuvenate them, he ordered them all to brace themselves as the TARDIS began rocking into the vortex. Even the most confident sailors or riders of the group were surprised and shocked with motion sickness.

Luckily the TARDIS landed with a hard thud, followed by a convulsion. "What the hell is this thing?" Robert groaned.

"Have we landed?" Richard asked stoicly.

"Yes, we have," the Doctor confirmed.

"So, what's the plan?" Ratcliffe whispered, placing his hand on the pommel of his new sword.

"You don't need to whisper," the Doctor said, ironically no lounder than a whisper. The TARDIS has a shield and perception filter around her."

"Her?" James asked.

"She has a mind of her own... apparently..." Richard offered.

"All we need to do is take a peak outside and survey the situation," the Doctor suggested.

James nodded and slowly pulled the door open and peaked outside, while the others held their breaths, ready to draw their swords.

"Well, what do you see Harrington?" Brackenbury asked. "How many soldiers?"

"Umm..." James began uncertainly.

"James, just spit it out and tell us!" Richard demanded.

"We might have a bit of a problem," said James. "We are just about half a mile from Market Bosworth... I can see the town from here..."

"What?" Huddleston exclaimed. "Doctor, I thought you said this ship was accurate?"

Suddenly the TARDIS buzzed, as if annoyed and angry. Richard had no idea how he knew, but she had just snapped at them all, berating them for making her go to Market Bosworth.

"She's scared to go in," Richard observed. "Why?"

"She's terrified for some reason, probably the presence of another Time Lord," the Doctor offered, stroking the console.

"Perhaps we should reconsider," Catesby said. "This is much more complicated than what we thought."

"I hate to say this, but you may be right," Robert admitted. "We no longer have the advantage of being right in the midst of the enemy, and be unseen."

"We've come this far, we can't give it up now!" the Doctor urged. He turned red realising uncomfortable the whole crew were, how uncertain they felt; all eyes fell on Richard.

"What was that promise, Doctor," the King asked quietly. "Never cruel, never cowardly."

"Never give up," Brackenbury and James answered for him to everyone's surprise.

"Never give in," the others chimed in.

"Remember the best," the Doctor croaked.

"The truth is, people, I am not going to let another innocent life be lost because I am too busy playing politics," Richard said simply. _There will be no Lady in the Tower, or Market, or Town or City, or Square._

"We press on. So tell me Doctor, is there a way to get in?"

The Doctor grinned, and soon enough that had spread on to them all. "Do you know how to use Greek fire?"

 

Luckily it was Northumberland who found her first, or so she was told. Her head hurt, her hair was a mess, her arm was bleeding and her tunic dress and breeches had a tear on the back.

"Excuse me, my lady, but you need to come with us," Northumberland had said. The soldiers around him had confirmed that Clara had no choice in the matter.

Northumberland's other son, Paul Percy, was livid at the sight of her. "They murdered Ralph! They butchered your eldest, your heir! Richard needs to be send a message- cut her up and send her to him, piece by piece!"

Before Clara could register what was said, Northumberland came to her aid. "Don't be a fool, Paul, your stupidity could get us all killed! No, those men were serving their king, but now we have a new king, we will present Lady Clara Oswald to him- ALIVE!"

Paul begrudgingly turned away.

Clara cursed both silently, for turning on them last minute, for treating loyalty as if it were a game. Considering that the losers of that game would be children like Megan and Ed, it was very personal for Clara, but she dared not say that out loud.

They had placed her on a horse, after disarming her, they had also presented her with a cloak. Northumberland's retinue rode on to meet another group of riders, with the banner of a red rose. Both halted a respectable distance from each other, until one rider from the new retinue was nudged by a man with a greying beard into dismounting. He almost fell over, causing the nudger to laugh. His laugh was painful to hear as it swarmed across the unit.

The humiliated rider pulled himself up to his full height, his pale skin hard compared to his hollow eyes. "M-my liege, King Henry of the House of Tudor, calls for your surrender and invites you to your subsequent safety."

A spark of horror fell across Clara's face, she knew this face, though he refused to make eye contact with her.

"Thank you, Thomas," Northumberland said, not unkindly. "On behalf of the North, I graciously accept and thank His Grace King Henry."

"Come on then, enough flirting!" one of the men who had laughed called out, he was dark haired and clean shaven. "His Grace awaits you in Market Bosworth, with Lords Thomas and William Stanley! Now get a move on!"

The retinues joined and proceeded into the distance to a walled town. They passed hundreds of crows, feasting on the bodies in the Field of Bosworth. A feeling of nausea coupled with dread blew a pit in Clara's stomach. Her heart raced, unsure about what would happen to her. Although the Doctor and Richard were safe, Clara wasn't kidding herself that she was as the turncloak escorted her to the lair of the Dragon- the Dragon who she had bested enough to escape from. The Doctor would come for her, he always did, just like when the WiFi took her and she felt so lost and smothered, yet he had saved her twice.

But what if he didn't this time? What if the TARDIS refused to co-operate, did she hate her that much? No, Clara had a plan, she could buy time.

"Those bodies should be the least of your worries, you stupid wench!" the bearded man spat at her. "I'd love to see that pretty face of yours as you get passed around our camp. Do you think she'll beg us to kill her, Wes?"

"I am Lady Clara Oswald, my father is Lord David Oswald of Maitland!" Clara snapped, with more confidence than she felt. "Even your King understands that!"

"Do you know who we are?" the clean shaven man, called Wes, said. "I'm Wes, and this is Noff, we are lords back in France, and wenches like you kiss our feet!"

"I highly doubt that, a French lord would hardly be fighting a for a foreign claim to a foreign throne... No, I think you're more likely a crook from a Normandy prison or a paid mercenary at best," Clara said evenly.

The smug grin on their faces vanished.

"She's got you out there," a Welsh rider said.

"Shut it, Merwyn, just because your master isn't here, you're still a fucking squire!" Wes snarled, shutting him up.

"Do you know what we did?" Noff spat at Clara. "We're the stuff your wet nurse threatened you with when you were a brat. There was this girl, lovely thing, but ugly as a crocodile's ass on one side. I can still remember the way she sang as we put her in that pot of hot oil! Wonderful sound!"

"Her father was a real tosser, didn't know what day it was or who he was half the time!" Wes added. "So we told him that he had killed her- the poor sod went and topped himself!" Then followed the most vile and disturbing laugh Clara had ever heard, she was at loss of words, and quickly forgot about the nauseating feeling the rotting bodies produced. She realised that the whole retinue had gone silent and understood why Thomas Grey, the cocky lad she had once met, seemed scared of every little movement.

"That is utterly disgusting!" Northumberland declared, clearly drawing a line at that, but not his own betrayal. "The French were too kind. In the North, if you did that, I would have you hanged, drawn-!"

"You don't own the North, old man!" Noff shot back. "The King asked for us especially, he doesn't owe you anything and still hasn't officially pardoned you for supporting that hog of a king!"

"If he can pardon you, he will pardon anything, you piece of worthless scum!" Paul snapped.

"Say that again!" Noff dared, but Wes grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Enough, let King Henry deal with them!" His friend looked like he was going to argue, but relented.

Clara drew breath, as the squire fell next to her.

"It's best you learn to ignore those two, just stay out of their way," he said. "I'm Owain Merwyn, by the way, I squire for Sir Gilbert Talbot, who unfortunately took a beating to the head by Gloucester." His tone was light, as if they were talking about football teams.

"King Richard," Clara corrected.

"Don't let these lot hear you say that," Owain warned. "I'm serious, King Henry is starting his reign as of yesterday, so according to him anyone who fought for Richard is a traitor, but that doesn't mean they can't be pardoned."

"Thank you, for the advice, Owain," Clara said tersely. "Did Thomas Grey stay out of their way?"

Owain sighed. "The sooner we get you pardoned by King Henry, the better things will be for you."

They arrived through the low rising hill that led to the gates of Market Bosworth. A huge windmill greeted them, before a courtyard, where on a parapet were about two dozen soldiers, the one in the middle wore a circlet of a crown- Henry Tudor.

"Your Grace," Jasper Tudor nodded, motioning behind him. Clara saw and recognised Thomas and William Stanley, Oxford and Gilbert Talbot (with a bandage to the side of his head) amongst those by his side.

"Percy!" Tudor exclaimed as if they were old friends. "Clara! You will not believe how exciting it is to see you again!"

"Your Grace, I come to offer my allegiance and congratulations," Northumberland offered. They all dismounted before him.

"Is that all?" Tudor glared at him. "Tom and Bill here rode to my defence, won me my crown." Thomas Stanley just scowled, while William cracked a smile. "Tom even sacrificed his son for my cause. Then Bill invited me here to this little town, I can't say why he loves this town so much- maybe it's the windmill- but it would be rude not to oblige him, wouldn't it?"

His eyes fell on Clara, they burned into her own almost making it painful to look at him. "But I see you have brought me more than that. Good!"

"Lady Clara Oswald is the daughter of Lord David of Maitland," Northumberland added.

"Yes, yes, of course, she is also Clara Longspear, who bested me in Calais," Tudor said softly, yet everyone was silent and heard. "You're not going to best me now are you?"

"No," she croaked.

"I can't hear you!" Tudor jeered.

"No, my lord," Clara said as stoically as possible. "Where is the rest of your army?"

"Somewhere else," Tudor waved. "Getting drunk, having a good time. My men deserve a good time don't they, Lady Clara?"

Clara refused to reply to that, knowing what he was probably suggesting. There were only about seventy-five soldiers here- the rest of the gathering spectators were just townspeople- perhaps if she bought enough time!

"Speak when someone is speaking to you!" Wes ordered. "Your king is speaking, ignore him again and I'll shut you pretty mouth for good!"

Clara's heart raced but she tried not to show it. "Everyone deserves a good time."

"She has wit, I'll give her that," Jasper smirked.

"Very well, my mother will tend to you and give you something better than that ugly... dress to wear," Tudor commanded. "Lady Mother, take Clara, while I take oaths of allegiance from my new... friends."

A tall dour woman in plum robes and a side horned headdress appeared before Clara; the former's eyes ordered Clara to follow- she knew not to argue. As soon as they were away from the crowd and in a small hut with a leaking roof and a wooden partition, Clara breathed out in relief.

"Do not get complacent," Margaret Beaufort snapped. "You are not safe yet. My son is king, and the way you just spoke to him would be enough to get you branded and whipped, do you understand me?"

Clara didn't reply.

"Put this dress on," Margaret huffed, picking up a lilac floral dress. "It's crude, but it will have to do, for now."

Clara took the dress and stepped behind the partition, she examined her back, arms and knee, all of which were covered in blisters and bruises. She lamented them silently, before slipping into the new dress.

"Quickly!" Margaret barked. "My son is king, show some more respect, you really need to start. Your treason for supporting that usurper Richard won't be easily forgiven so you better get on your little knees and beg for mercy!"

"Explain to me how that was treason, was Richard not an anointed king?" Clara challenged.

"Hold you tongue, girl!" Margaret spat, and latching on to Clara's hair.

Clara hissed in pain but pushed Margaret away with both her hands, something the latter was not expecting, yet she managed to pull out a handful of the younger's hairs. "No seriously, explain to me how your son became king a whole day before he picked up the crown?"

"It doesn't matter how, he is!" Margaret cried.

"He's not Henry Tudor!" Clara hissed. "He is a Time Lord spirit that has occupied your son's body like a shell! Macabrius has always done this, he feeds on people desperate for ambition, desperate to stay on the pedestal that others put for them! Ask anyone, your son shot fireballs from his hands, because he is not himself!"

Margaret did not respond and turned away to face the window.

"You knew?" Clara said. "How?"

"I prayed for this, for my son to become the mighty successor and avenger to the late King Henry, the one everyone calls the Mad, the Sleeping, the Feeble. I wanted vengeance on Edward and his Yorkists," Margaret croaked. "I asked for this and it was done. This is God's will, the chosen path."

"How can it be God's will for your son to be infested by a spirit that has a lust for violence and power?"

"Let me tell you something Clara, whatever happens there are always sacrifices to be made, I have made so many, I have been through things you can never imagine! Never give me the speech that injustice is happening to you because what will happen to you now is nothing compared to what I have had to endure to get here: being given to a stranger who I have had to use my body for his pleasure, the agony of bearing a child at only thirteen years of age, the even greater agony of having that child taken from me, of him returning to me but no longer himself... and knowing that I asked for this..."

For a moment both women looked at one another, with eyes that began to blink.

"I don't need your pity!" Margaret snarled suddenly. "There are always sacrifices, as you are about to learn- now get a move on!"

The sudden fluctuation in harshness caught Clara off guard, the words of this woman made Clara turn red and feel the fool, as tears escaped her eyes. _Where the fuck are you, Doctor, Richard, or anyone? Are you going to let me pay the price while you sit behind those walls all safe and sound?_ It was in that moment, Clara realised she was crying. She saw Margaret Beaufort's smug grin, and wanted nothing but to lash out and weep with all her might, tearing her stupid grin off.

"Aw, look at you, poor thing?" Margaret taunted. "It's time you toughened up and realised that you're just a pawn and no one- is coming- to save you. The sooner you learn that lesson girl the better."

Clara fumed, as she dried her tears. But something buzzed and warmed where her heart was, but it wasn't her heart. Luckily, she had turned away from Margaret Beaufort.

She met with the garrison out in the courtyard, by a gibbet that was thankfully missing a noose.

"Look at you Clara!" Tudor laughed. "Here you are!"

"Here I am," Clara echoed.

"You've always dreamed of your wedding as a little girl, haven't you?" Tudor asked. "So I thought, why not give that to you? My leal knight, Sir Gilbert Talbot is in need of a wife, won't he do?"

Clara steadied herself, she could do this, she only had to play it cool.

"Your Grace, this is rather sudden," Talbot said, uncertainly.

"Do you really think you can do better than this?" Tudor scoffed, prompting Noff and Wes to lead a smirking fit. Talbot shook his head apologetically.

"No? That's what I thought! Now why don't we summon the priest, where is he?"

"I don't think so," Clara said simply.

"What did you say?" Tudor challenged.

"The girl is mad!" Bill Stanley shouted.

Margaret Beaufort grabbed her wrist. "What did I tell you? This is the best outcome a girl like you can hope for!"

Clara grabbed her wrist and yanked it free from Margaret's grip, shocking her speechless but growing their mutual contempt.

"I so want to hear her wriggle out of this one!" Noff snickered.

"If I am to marry, your Grace, I want my father's blessing, I want him to be there and the rest of my family," Clara said. _Please, please, please, hurry up!_

Tudor's mouth curled into forced smile. "Do you really think you should be making such demands, Lady Clara?" He edged dangerously close, his height towered above her own; she flinched away but only slightly.

"I think it's only fair," Clara said, hoping her voice didn't betray her. It turned out to be the wrong thing to say; Clara yelled in pain as a gauntlet struck her swiftly. She wiped the blood from her mouth, daring once more to make eye contact.

"You disappoint me," Tudor said softly. "I see you will have to be taught a lesson- come here, Dorset!"

Thomas Grey edged close to where they were, avoiding looking at Tudor in the eyes. "Yes, your Grace?"

"Clara has lost her manners, something you didn't have did you? Tell her what happened?"

"He taught me..." Thomas mumbled, with tears of fear in his eyes. "You shouldn't wait for him to teach you... please..."

With one sudden moment, Tudor pulled out a knife and struck Thomas in the thigh, causing the latter to weep and keel over to the ground. "My lord! No, no, please! That's my bad leg!"

"There was no need for that!" Clara cried, her voice breaking, as she heard Thomas Grey broken and in complete despair, begging her to make it stop. She had no desire to sumbit to the man who would surely harm Megan and Ed if he were to get his hands on him, but what if her defiance caused agony and torture for the shell of a man that was beseeching her like a child to his mother.

Tudor held the knife above Clara, letting Grey's blood drip on her hair and trickle down her forehead and face, like tears. She felt like she couldn't breathe, she had got her hopes up, why had her locket buzzed if the Doctor wasn't nearby?

Suddenly, there was a deafening bang, a legion of rubble and smoke attacked the windmill, cleaving the fan in half, before taking it right off.

"We're under attack!" Northumberland yelled.

"My Lord Oxford, what's the meaning of this?" Jasper called.

"Perhaps the Yorkists are attacking again." Oxford gathered a huge group to investigate and follow him, into the mist of the debris.

It was then Tudor was left with a few of the Stanley, Northumberland and his own men.

"Who is it?" Tudor demanded, pointing the bloodied knife to her face. "Tell me true or else I will carve your pretty face off!"

"I swear, I don't know, you beat us, they all fled!" Clara reasoned.

Suddenly, he cried out as an arrow was lodged in the back of his knee. A falcon cry was heard, as Plantagenet the falcon came swooping down and dug his talons into Tudor's scalp, tearing the crown from his head. He shouted in shock and pain, dropping his dagger.

The falcon darted away, but Clara swept up the dagger and stabbed into her tormentor's shoulder, between the chink in the armour. Tudor yelled again as Clara palmed him in the face, pushing him off the gibbet and onto the dirt.

"Clara, run!" called a dark haired man in a blue breastplate and cloak, with a bow nocked with another arrow. He stood on a roof of a hut, yards from where Clara was, flanked by Mason and Ratcliffe, wielding an arquebus and bow respectively.

"Gloucester!" Jasper roared. A dozen other soldiers, including Noff and Wes, drew their swords and axes. "Take him! Protect the king!"

At that moment, doors to abandoned huts flew open, as the Lancastrians were rushed by a thunderous bellow, followed by Brackenbury, the Doctor, James and Robert Harrington, Catesby and Huddleston, all with a glowing sword at their disposal.

The Doctor parried and kicked at Jasper Tudor, before throwing out his hand for Clara. She smiled and rushed to him, eternally grateful, but she suddenly halted.

"Wait, we need to take Thomas Grey!"

"There's no time!" James yelled, dispatching an enemy. "Run!"

"Thomas! Come on!" Clara called, but Grey was just glued to a wall desperate to avoid any confrontation, like a wallflower at a disco.

"Get him!" Noff snarled, as he and Wes charged at the Doctor, who had to swiftly shield himself as well as Clara. While the Doctor met Noff's blade, the edge of Wes' struck him near the armpit. The pair cackled as Noff squared on Clara and Wes raised his sword to run through the Doctor.

"Doctor!" Clara screamed, picking up a broken plank of wood, desperate to throw it at one of them.

Luckily, in a flash, Wes found one of Catesby's crossbow bolts lodged in his eye, as a bullet from Mason's arquebus tore into his knee. The Doctor struck him down in one slash.

James Harrington stepped in between Clara and Noff, and forced the latter back. He delivered a gash on his enemy's chin and lunged forwards while grabbing Noff's sword arm, skewering him right through the neck.

"I think you might prefer this, my Lady," Richard huffed as he appeared next to her, handing her a flanged mace, along with a quiver and a bow. Ratcliffe stepped down on their level and threw her a light but sharp sheathed blade- a falchion.

"Are you all right?" Richard asked.

Clara nodded quickly. "You came?"

"We were never going to leave you behind," Richard smiled. "Not while we had any breath left."

"Thank you," she said, not just at their weapons.

"Form up!" Richard called. "Fall back; Clara behind us!"

The ten took one look at the recovering Lancastrian garrison, which had lost or injured twelve men in the frenzy of the past two minutes. The Yorkists darted back, crossing behind a row of houses, into a gate of a small farm, where they took down a few other soldiers, before spying a dead end.

"We're trapped," Huddleston said.

"No, no, not yet," Mason dissented. "This way!" He led them through a labyrinth of houses and slums, behind barns and cow and pig sties, where the locals shut their doors and windows, turning a blind eye. They passed through the point where they had managed to climb over to get in; they moved on knowing they would not get the chance to climb up quickly enough.

They stole on as silently as possible, hoping to lose their pursuers. They had arrived at an alleyway behind a barn, when they heard Tudor's voice.

"Since our friend Dickon is busy playing hide and seek, I have a proposition for you all. Whoever can bring me the Usurper King Richard, I will handsomely reward him and his family, even grant him a knighthood or lordship- who is interested?"

His offer was met with a loud cheer. A cheer for the witch hunt to begin.


	19. Heart of a King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are a Plantagenet, Richard. Your ancestors did not survive 300 years because of morality or any code of honour. No, they showed ambition and were not afraid to fight for it at all costs, and now Richard Plantagenet is about to throw it all away because of his 'honour'?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is called Heart of a King, named after a soundtrack from the amazing film called Man in the Iron Mask. Speaking of which, if you want to listen to the melody that Richard hears at the end of the chapter, listen to the last 40 seconds of the soundtrack "All for One", it's on YouTube. The charge is also inspired by that film as well as Sunne in Splendour.
> 
> This is where you will see Macabrius in his original form, any ideas who he resembles or who his look alike was?
> 
> Violence and death warning.

"Doctor, summon your TARDIS, tell me you can do that!" Richard urged.

The Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver, scanning around and muttering to himself, begging the Old Girl to come- he got no response. He didn't even need to speak.

"So that's it, is it? We're completely surrounded," Mason huffed. "Your TARDIS has left us all to die?"

"Not you," Richard croaked, closing his eyes and leaning against the right hand side of the building. "You can take off your armour, and slip out in plan clothes- no one will suspect you."

"Is that you command, your Grace?" Mason croaked.

Richard smiled wistfully, avoiding an answer. He had been a fool, part of him wished that he should have stayed in Leicester and rallied the regiment in Nottingham. Tudor would not show him mercy, he would put him in the darkest part of the Tower of London and watch him starve, just like Henry Bolingbrooke had done with Richard II.

"I am so sorry," Clara said. "I didn't want this for any of you."

"Clara," the Doctor breathed. "It was me, I asked-"

"No! It's not your fault, Lady Clara!" Richard hissed. "We, or at least, I could not leave you at the mercy of that pretender- they were not meant to take you." His words were concurred by murmurs from the rest of the Yorkists- the Falcon Knights that donned the blue armour, mail and cloak with the White Falcon.

"Richard! Come out, come out, the battle is already done!" Tudor's voice jeered from the courtyard.

Brackenbury peered over their sheltering walls. "Tudor's getting his gunmen ready in position. Half of them are locals desperate for their reward. Most of the locals just have pikes, pitchforks and chopping axes."

"Let's play a game, shall we?" Tudor exclaimed. "Let's play: how long can the Yorkists hide before starving to death or being found out?"

He heard Plantagenet cry out as he circled the air. A smile flickered on to Richard's face. "Brackenbury, how many are there?"

"Fifty to sixty Lancastrian soldiers, about thirty locals."

Richard took a deep breath. "Tudor wants us to surrender, he wants that. But I know that beyond those soldiers, there is the hole in the wall- look again- a hole that we made to get in, maybe that's our way out of here!"

"Your Grace, you are not suggesting what I think you are, are you?" Catesby asked.

"He is!" Ratcliffe chuckled.

"We are most likely to get shot at and we may be cut down," Richard continued. "But, with them is Tudor, and Macabrius in his soul, right under our talons. This is our best chance to escape!" His pupils had dilated to a stunningly full moon. "If any of you wish to surrender then that's your choice, but not mine. Who will stand with me and charge at Tudor?"

His men were looking at him with disbelief, as he held out his blade before him, inviting them to follow. It was by sheer luck that they survived the risky charge at Bosworth Field today- surely it was madness to ask to be blessed again?

Clara's back was tingling with goosebumps and a smile shot across her lips. "Loyaulte me lie!" she beamed, drawing her mace and pointing it down at his sword. They had come for her, out of loyalty and despite her fear, she would stand by them.

The Doctor grinned and joined his blade with Richard and Clara. "Always."

The rest joined in one by one- the Harringtons, Ratcliffe, Mason, Huddleston, Brackenbury, until only Catesby remained.

"I have a confession to make- I counseled the Doctor against turning around for you after you had fallen because I thought it too late for you."

"As did I, Will!" Huddleston said. "Forgive us, my lady."

"You're here now, that's what matters," Clara replied honestly.

"Please, pray to God to have mercy on my soul," Catesby whispered, looking down and tapping his sword on those of his friends. "As I shall for you all." The Doctor placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Forgive and forget, William," Richard assured him. He communicated his plan- they were to go out and rain arrows, bullets or any missile upon the platoon, before charging loose formation at soldiers that outnumbered them at least seven-to-one.

Back in the courtyard, Owain watched the men load their arquebus guns with gunpowder and pellets. Out from the barn on the far end, he saw ten figures march out. Were the Yorkists about to surrender? That would probably be for the best as these locals were not trained to fight, and the Yorkists had suddenly sabotaged a chunk of this garrison. The men were tired and quite possibly drunk.

Richard nocked his bow with an arrow; he did not need to command his group to do the same with either an arquebus. They aimed slightly higher than the heads of the gunmen.

"Loose!" he commanded. A volley shot across the open space, catching a few soldiers in their arms, shoulders or legs, taking them down. Putting aside his bow, he drew his sword and buckler. "Spare their lives when you can." Richard commanded, followed by the roars of his companions. Within barely a second, they, in loose formation, were charging. All ten of them!

"Fire!" Jasper Tudor ordered.

Owain could only stare at awe at the audacity of these fighters, and so could the arquebusers, as many of them were visibly shaking, while their fuses were burning away. They needed to fire quickly, otherwise the Yorkists would be upon them!

"I said fire!" Jasper snarled kicking one of the very young gunmen, who lurched forwards and pulled the trigger. The explosion sent the butt smashing into his face, while his shot streamed through the air and at the charging Yorkists. Within seconds, the arquebusers began to fire at these raging knights.

Smoke filled the air, as the Doctor and Richard shielded Clara from the shots that followed by charging directly in front of her. Richard growled as one bounced off his armour and another grazed his arm; he refused to let the stunning pain stop him- he was after Tudor and he was going to break this wall of soldiers to get him.

Brackenbury also took a few pellets to his leg and elbow, but roared like a bear as he too trudged on.

Catesby was shouting with all his heart, but a shot soared on his breastplate and ricocheted to his chin, blasting him backwards as he fell to the ground, with blood erupting from his face, his sword being thrown into the air and impaling the ground next to its fallen master.

But the Falcon Knights could not grieve yet. Suddenly, Plantagenet glided down and clawed at the confused arquebusers, by that time it was too late to stop the Yorkists from ramming into the gunmen with full force.

Just one shot was fired and even that missed completely. Clara found the guilty gunman- a local as he lacked the uniform, his dirty shirt gave his profession as probably a pig farmer. Clara smashed through his weapon, but let him dash away. A total of sixteen locals, who had taken up arms, fled and were allowed to do so on Richard's orders.

The rest were less merciful, with arquebusers falling down or being run through with swords. The Yorkists could see the exit, it was fifty metres away!

"Lancaster!" Jasper Tudor shouted. "Form up!" The masses of swordsmen and haldberdeers moved to engulf the Yorkists.

"Spread out!" Richard ordered, striking down a soldier and using his spear to launch at a man that stood right next to Jasper Tudor, prompting the latter to jump. "Don't let them corner us!" Amongst the intense yelling and cursing, his eyes homed in on one person. He was clad in armour draped with a red dragon- Henry Tudor! The White Falcon soared with the Red Dragon in his cross-hair, confident that he would reach him this time. This time, Macabrius within him, would find it difficult to use his Time Lord powers, the impact of Richard's arrow rooted firmly in Tudor's leg from earlier, along with Clara's stab to the shoulder.

Ratcliffe had to duck to avoid the swing of a halberd before another arquebuser fired at his leg, making him scream in determined agony, before lashing out hard and decapitating his tormentor. He limped towards Richard, assisting him to dispatch another soldier and return on his march towards Tudor.

"Doctor!" Clara called desperately, as three large men leapt towards her, forcing her to parry.

The Doctor firmly rammed into one of them, while ordering Plantagenet to swoop upon and bite the head of the other, who howled in pain, before Clara swatted him aside with her mace. The final of the three merely backed away, only to be disarmed with a convulsion by the Doctor's sonic screwdriver.

"Clara, Doctor, you need to get out now!" James ordered them, tilting his head to the gap in the wall.

"Doctor, we can't leave them can we?" Clara cried, as she ran with him. "Can we not try and save them too?"

The Doctor exhaled. His orders were clear, but he knew that the Falcon Knights would be massacred by the hordes of the enemy. Before he could reply, another group of spearmen leapt at them and the Doctor and Clara had to push them back. Clara quickly drew her bow and scouted Robert Harrington being struck with a flail by Thomas Stanley from a horse. The former was slammed down with a scream.

Huddleston was already on the floor and being hacked with swords and Mason was madly swinging his sword and axe- his firearm discarded, furiously defying the same fate, while fending off five swordsmen, including Gilbert Talbot and William Stanley.

Richard wasted no time in swinging his blade and forcing Tudor to engage with him. A low growl escaped from within him. Without Macabrius' Time Lord powers, he and his enemy would be fighting on more or less an equal footing, there would be no time for Tudor to blast him, and now he would see who was the better swordsman.

James' eyes flared with grieving anger as he witnessed his brother, bloodied faced and exhausted being struck again with Stanley's flail. James took up a spear and had one thought on his mind, he would take Thomas Stanley off his horse and finish him. Before he could, a shield was slammed into him, pushing him nearly off his feet. He quickly turned to meet the blunt end of his blade with an infantryman's sword. However, a sweep with the sharper end and a kick was enough to dispatch this one.

James returned his gaze forwards to see to his horror, that Stanley was jeering at him as he rode forwards, flail ready to collide with him. Just when he thought it was too late, Stanley dropped his weapon as an arrow flew into his shoulder. James turned to see Clara nodding to him from a parapet- his saviour. He smiled thankfully, and she nodded back.

James thrust his spear at Stanley, who managed to catch it in his left hand, but was completely taken by surprise, and off his steed, when James pulled back. Stanley's smirk faded and he rolled out of the way, before drawing his sword and facing James Harrington square on.

A few yards away, Richard and Tudor had begun their sparring and exchanging of blows. Richard fought to keep the aggression, he wanted Tudor to be forced into a corner and to make his mistake, while Ratcliffe covered him from enemy attention.

After meeting Richard's strike, Tudor swung a left gauntlet punch at him, which Richard quickly blocked, but also had to restrain Tudor's sword hand. Both grimaced and pushed, but Richard leaned in with a knee to his adversary's stomach, followed by a right elbow strike to the face.

He cursed under his breath, as he felt his shoulders inflame in acute pain, he was forced to shuffle them and regretted it, despite the relief it brought him. Now was not a good time for his shoulders or back to play up, and Tudor, wiping the blood from his lip, had had seen Richard's weakness. He raised his sword up and challenged Richard to attack.

Meanwhile, a dozen pikeman gathered a phalanx before the Doctor and Clara, who still had to fight amidst the chaos, unable to escape just yet. But a large red bearded knight would give them something to fear.

"Stand back!" spat Sir Robert Brackenbury. He bellowed as he launched himself, like an enraged bull at these pikeman. Within one powerful slash, he had snapped a pike clean in two, while Michael Mason, lodged his sword in another. However, he yelled out in pain, as a shot from an arquebus invaded his hip.

The Doctor looked on in horror as Mason was shot at again, and an infantryman impaled him with a thrust of his sword from behind. The Doctor waved his sonic at a roof of a gazebo, and it crumbled down on the group of arquebusers that had shot Mason. He saw Owain dragging a wounded Gilbert Talbot away from the courtyard, the knight having suffered another blow to the head by Mason's flat edge of the sword.

James and Stanley were locked in an intensive and dirty sword duel, for a minute James was gaining the upper hand, while Stanley still had the head of Clara's arrow lodged in his stronger shoulder.

"You think you're on the right side, do you?" he scoffed at James. "Do you really think you'll get to keep your lands and your family won't be thrown out?"

"At least I'm not a two-faced pig!" James spat back.

"What's Richard going to do? Retreat to the North and give you Hornby, just like you were promised?" mocked Stanley. James responded by delivering a kick that sent him flying.

"We will take you and your precious Hornby and everything you call yours! We own you now! Just like we own your nieces!"

At this, James screamed in fury and charged ready to finish him off, once and for all. He nearly missed seeing William Stanley's sword come at him, which he just about managed to parry, but the flail caught his chest, making him cough up blood. This gave William Stanley and Thomas Stanley the perfect opportunity to stab at him with both of their blades. James howled in pain and was pushed back. Before they could strike again, Clara launched a second arrow into Thomas Stanley's arm, and the Doctor thrust William's blade away and kick his shin, before pulling a wounded James away from the battle.

"James, come on, stay with me!" the Doctor urged, but his friend could see in his eyes that wounds on James' broken armoured torso were deep.

Clara sped over to support him, but James shook his head and exhaled painfully. He saw the bodies of Catesby, Robert, Huddleston and Mason.

Brackenbury had felled most of the soldiers by the opening in the wall but his fiery temper was draining him, and a spearman saw this as an opportunity to drive one through his back, while the swordsman that he was fighting saw his opportunity to finish him. Like a hunted bear, Sir Robert Brackenbury fell to his knees before being kicked in the face and landing on the ground.

Plantagenet cried out in pain, as a bang from an arquebus was fired, smoke filled the air and the falcon swirled around before crashing down, never to get up again.

For a moment, fighting seemed to slow down, the whole courtyard seemed to be tiring and getting sick of the bloodshed. It seemed that only Richard and Ratcliffe were clashing with Henry and Jasper Tudor respectively.

James' sight was fading as his consciousness began to die, his hearing depleted by the second and he found himself staggering; the sounds around him were dying into distant echoes. He heard Clara's voice say something to him and a hand on either side of him trying to support him. He smiled painfully, as the last thing he watched was Ratcliffe being kicked and Jasper's sword being thrust into his thigh, and Richard parrying a blow from Richmond. James had lost more blood than he needed to stay awake and found himself collapsing to the ground.

Ratcliffe desperately tried to reach for one of Jasper's weak points, somewhere where he could slash once and it would all be over, but found himself being struck in the face by his adversary's sword, blood gushing from his jaw and ear. Ratcliffe only gasped as Jasper Tudor's boot slapped the side of his head, casting his mind into painful darkness.

Meanwhile, Richard was sweating and bleeding too, Tudor had just smacked him a few times with his gauntlet, causing the Falcon to jump back. It was only luck that allowed him an opportunity to deflect an upcoming stab to his face and deflect it down to his breastplate.

The stab just dented the armour, but Richard still felt a blunt pain. He roared in anger, swearing to himself to stay strong, for the honour of all his friends, who had fallen following him; for his family, especially those who Tudor would harm; for Clara's sake, he would not let that girl die here today.

Richard grabbed Tudor's sword wrist and struck him as hard as he could with the hammer of his fist; Tudor winced as his nose bled. Richard side kicked him as hard as he could with his right boot, blasting him back.

Just then, he saw an opening- a part of Tudor's main body had fallen away in battle. Richard capitalised and lunged with his sword aimed right at the opening on the left part of the abdomen. Tudor's gasped as the blade perforated his skin.

The whole courtyard held its breath; Jasper Tudor yelled out as he saw his nephew at the mercy of the King, and his eyes filled with terror and despair, which completely swept the brashness and pride that showed when he had overpowered Ratcliffe a few moments ago.

Richard scouted for the Doctor and Clara, but his blade started vibrating and a thick, foggy and yellow shield was cast around him and his enemy.

Suddenly the surroundings faded completely and Richard found himself landing in an abandoned ruin. The wind blew particles of ash, and just like a few minutes ago the grey clouds hovered above him, but he was all alone. He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, but it turned into a cough. His back flared with soreness and he had to drop his sword to nurse his afflicted limb.

Just as it seemed to be getting better, Richard heard a slow clap before him. He swiftly opened his eyes to see a tall man with short red hair stood before him. His robes were an imperial red velvet and his shoulders were coated with plates of golden armour. He had small eyes and a lanky face, but his lips twisted into a calculated and sly smile. Richard knew that this man was no ally.

"Bravo!" he laughed in a deep and commanding voice. "Who would have thought? Richard III finally being able to defeat Henry Tudor!"

"Who are you?" Richard demanded, reaching for his blade. But then it dawned on him. "Macabrius."

"I am Ares Macabrius, and you have proven a lot today, Richard Plantagenet!" he congratulated.

"What do you want?" Richard asked.

Macabrius looked at his skin inquisitively and was obviously enjoying himself. "It's not usual that I get to see myself in my own skin, you see, although there was a point in time when I met this young man who conspired to kill his Uncle, who was so surprised and heartbroken to see him as one of his assassins, he just accepted his fate! This young man, he looked so much like me! I wasn't as strong then and I already had another body, so I couldn't possess him there and then, but I would have been proud, but for the tears and guilt that followed."

"I said, what do you want?" Richard repeated. "Where's Tudor? And where are we?"

"Relax, Dickon! Tudor was only a vessel, and he outlived his usefulness," grinned Macabrius. "Because you managed to drive a sword through him! You managed to beat your destiny!

"I want to make you an offer you can't refuse!"

Richard's hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. He did not like where this was going.

"Give yourself to me!" Macabrius said. "Tudor will die and I will make sure that you and your friends leave this place alive."

"And you will make sure that I am your puppet, won't you?" Richard scoffed.

"Richard, you stupid fool!" Macabrius roared. Richard's hand darted to the pommel of his sword on his hip.

"Strike me down, if it'll make you feel better!" Macabrius challenged dangerously. "But I am not here to make war.

"Put it this way, you can reign for many years, longer than Henry III! An era of peace, stability and prosperity will come to England. England will be the trade route for Europe, a centre for knowledge, education and discovery, just like Baghdad was for the East! England will rise as a powerful naval country! It will be a Golden Age, that empires will envy! A Plantagenet Age- a Ricardian Age!" Macabrius beseeched.

Richard's pulse was racing and his breathing was heavy.

"All you have to do is to give yourself to me," Macabrius grinned. "Don't worry, I won't make you do anything too out of character!" There was an element of spite in his voice, which Richard sensed and tightened his grip on his sword.

Macabrius sighed, as Richard's blue-grey eyes stabbed at him like arrows.

"I had a feeling you would need persuading."

"There's nothing to be persuaded by," Richard said coldly. "I will not hand over my Kingdom to you, I know what you are!"

"I don't think you do, Richard! I am your saviour! That's your problem, isn't it? You believe in the most overrated words- honour, loyalty...!"

"They are not just words to me!"

"Wake up, Richard! The world no longer runs that way! If Henry Tudor lives, then you will die! He will take your Crown! He will blacken your name more than the blackest part of the night.

"You will be the wicked uncle, who gave in to his greed and usurped the throne from his nephew."

"That's really not how it happened!" Richard snapped.

"Of course, it isn't, but that's what everyone will think!" Macabrius cackled. "No one will believe that you thought you were doing what was best by the nation. You will be the tyrant who had them put into the Tower and had their lives snuffed out of their poor little necks!"

"How dare you?" Richard roared, drawing his sword. "I did not order their deaths!"

"You betrayed your brother's trust in you!"

"I have already paid for that," Richard croaked. "I have put that behind me."

"Have you really?" Macabrius taunted. "Here, let me show you something of interest."

The surroundings faded into what looked like a theatre that was packed with folks of all sorts of sizes, they were all seated and they were dressed rather strangely- a little like the Doctor and Clara, when Richard first met them those months ago.

Richard and Macabrius were close enough to see the stage, which had a pretty maiden dressed like a princess knelt next to a coffin, she was clearly mourning someone she had loved and lost. A man dressed in dark clothing and a hat stood near her, he was quite tall, but stooped somewhat and walked with a limp and an arm that was uneasily curled to his side. The way he looked at the woman was scandalous, to say the least, his eyes glowed with hunger and lechery, as if she was a piece of fine meat that he would get at all cost.

Richard immediately felt a pit of unease; he did not like this character one bit.

"He that did bereft thee, lady of thy husband, did it to find thee a better husband," the man said, coming so close to the woman.

"His better does not breathe upon this earth," the woman said quietly, deliberately looking away from him.

"He lives that loves thee better than he could!" the man whispered, almost grabbing the woman's chin and forcing her to look at him, his lips inches from hers.

"Name him," said the woman, struggling to speak more audibly.

"Plantagenet."

"Why that was he," the woman responded, sadly looking to her husband's grave. The man forcefully pulled her face away. "Where is he?"

"Here!" smirked the man, laughing at the fact her eyes blazed with shock.

She pushed his hands away and slapped him, before spitting in his face, and Richard couldn't help but smile inside and applaud her.

"Why does thou spit at me?" the man said evenly.

"Would it were mortal poison for thy sake!" she yelled, getting up.

"Never came a poison from so sweet a place," grinned the man.

"Never hung poison on a fouler toad! Out of my sight, thou does infect my eyes!" the woman cried.

"Thine eyes, sweet lady, has infected mine!" the man sneered.

"Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead!"

The scene went on about how this man called her bluff by asking her to command him to stab himself; she could not, so he proposed to her and she accepted, but then he turned to the audience and explained how easily she was wooed and fell for his charms.

Richard had to admit that he found it quite entertaining, he turned to Macabrius. "Excuse me, but why are you showing me this?"

The crowd in the area faded until only the two were left.

"That was a play which will be written about a hundred years from now," Macabrius answered. "That woman was Anne Neville, and that man was you!"

Richard's blood began to boil with rage and complete disbelief. Without thinking, he struck a punch at Macabrius and pinned him against the wall, and placed his dagger to this parasite's jugular vein.

"This is complete slander!" Richard roared.

"Oh, please, don't hurt me!" Macabrius said with mock fear. "I'm only the poor messenger."

Richard cursed under his breath, Macabrius' brazenness causing his hand to shake. Why was he so cavalier? Was this how bad it would get?

"Oh, poor Richard, he wasn't a sad, twisted, perverted creep, who seduced Anne, the loosest and shallowest of women, who would bed her husband's killer!"

Richard struck the dagger as deep as he could in Macabrius' neck, he sliced across with burning fury, but there was no blood or even any sign of damage. Macabrius gave him a twisted grin. Richard responded by kneeing him hard in the groin, this time prompting a grunt from his taunter.

"You can't kill me, Richard, I am not even physically here!" Macabrius replied, transporting them back to the ruins. "You hate this, don't you? You were never like that? You were sweet, kind, noble and chivalrous, weren't you?"

Richard did not want to respond to this game, but he nodded, immediately cursing himself; he had to be patient and stronger than this.

"It's a lie, isn't it?" Macabrius asked softly. "It's a lie that Tudor will capitalise on. He will never show you mercy. You might think you're the moral victor, but he will be the true victor, no one will believe in you. No one will remember that, they will all forget!

"You are a Plantagenet, Richard. Your ancestors did not survive 300 years because of morality or any code of honour. No, they showed ambition and were not afraid to fight for it at all costs, and now Richard Plantagenet is about to throw it all away because of his 'honour'?"

Richard's chest heaved and his grip tightened still around his now sheathed dagger and sword.

"Perhaps there's someone else who can convince you," Macabrius sighed. He stood back and motioned behind Richard, who turned and his fist curled hands fell apart, as he held his breath.

There he stood, almost as young as Richard had remembered. Like Richard, his hair was thick and wavy, his blue-grey eyes lit up as he smiled at him. He wore a light blue doublet, akin to the one Richard remembered. His beard was little more grey and elderly than it had been in life, but here he was.

"Father?" Richard croaked. "Is it really you? How...?"

"Aye," York nodded. "We are in a dimension between life and death, that's why I can talk to you."

York patted Richard on the shoulder and looked into his eyes, but Richard averted his gaze slightly, before looking up again.

"It's been, so long since I last saw you," Richard said quietly. "I was only eight."

"I know," York responded. "I have been watching over you and all of your brothers and sisters, and you have all done me proud. For years, I was hoping for the Crown, I fought for it and for the good of England, unfortunately, I was never meant to get it. But luckily, I had two sons, who were destined to become Kings of England, and they did!

"Richard, this is what your brother, Edmund, and I died for," York reminded him, which called the tears in his eyes, as he remembered that December, or was it January, day when he had found his mother, Cecily, crying. That was the day when he found that his father and Edmund would not be coming back to them. "Don't throw this away, Richard. This is your birthright, not Henry Tudor's!"

"It's not Macabrius' either," Richard replied. "He wants me to be his puppet, Father! I would rule only in name."

York sighed. "I know that this isn't ideal, but this is much better than handing over your throne to Tudor."

Richard saw into his father's pleading eyes; he saw how desperate he was and how Richard used to miss him very much as a little boy, when he used to ask Edward or Warwick to regale stories about him. The foundations of Richard's character and who he was were built by Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York- it was no coincidence that of all his brothers, he shared his father's first name. York was the one who told him stories of heroes and knights, fighting for their fair maiden, who could be the woman they love, their country or even their ideals.

Richard found a tear falling from his eyes, which he quickly wiped and braced himself for what he was about to do next.

"It's funny how something can get ingrained on a child's heart, but the source of the seed is forgotten overtime, but one little blossom can make him remember everything," Richard smiled grimly, turning to Macabrius. "One thing my father taught me, was that while a King rules over his subjects, he is their leader, but he is also their servant. I didn't understand him then, now I understand him clearly!" Richard's voice grew bolder and more determined, his eyes striking Macabrius with disdain. "I know what you are, I know what you do, I know how desperate you are that I take up your offer!"

Macabrius' veins on his neck were twitching as he swallowed, but remained silent.

"The Doctor told me everything! You will rule my Kingdom like a brutal tyrant, you care only about your power, you will lead this country to utter ruin, and run away to another host, while you can!" Richard bellowed. "Don't you dare say a word about what Tudor will do to my name, because there will be many who even hundreds of years after today will fight for my honour!

"So, I am sorry, but I will not be handing over my soul or my people to you!" Richard declared.

York faded into thin air. The ruins began glowing with a bright heavenly light and a huge vertical wound appeared on Macabrius' chest, as though he had been slashed. Instead of blood, a yellow light erupted and turned on him, making him scream and writhe in desperation.

"I curse you, Richard Plantagenet!" Macabrius shouted, but more and more wounds appeared on his body and within a minute, he was gasping for breath and he dropped to his knees.

Richard drew his sword and brought it down over his enemy's neck, it made contact and the scenery exploded with bright light.

Suddenly, Richard found himself back in Market Bosworth looking at the fearful face of Henry Tudor, his abdomen still impaled with Richard's blade, which began vibrating in his numbing hands.

"You're welcome," Richard smiled. Before anyone could respond, the vibrations blasted him and Tudor with such energy that both were sent flying metres away from each other.

Tudor hit the wall near Jasper and Stanley and let out a scream of pain.

Richard was sent crashing over a parapet and he tumbled over, his bones and shoulders screaming out to him in agony. He couldn't see, all he could hear were shouts, asking if he and Tudor were both dead.

The pain in his limbs and head fell on him like water in a monsoon and it pinned him down on the ground, forbidding him from moving. He found his body sweating and mind fading in and out of consciousness.

"Richard!" the Doctor's voice called out to him.

"Richard, come on, please stay with us!" Clara's sweet voice begged. "Don't you dare die on us!" How could he not comply, he wanted to so badly, but his body refused. He just wanted to tell them to get out; he did not know how, but he knew that the exit was clear, all they had to do was run.

Richard found himself in a field in a warm and sunny day, like he had been slumbering in the meadow and had just woken up. He heard a soft flute play, it was such a sweet melody, he wanted to listen to it forever, it was calling to him and he felt like he was home, his heart didn't want that song to end. He was close now, all he had to do was to die, to slip away from this life and he could stay here forever.

Then he heard a voice, a woman's voice, though he couldn't point out who it belonged to yet.

"Not yet, Richard, not yet. They need you."

For the last minute, the whole courtyard had gathered around the Falcon and the Dragon, eagerly awaiting and speculating at the prospect of who was dead, or whether they had both been killed, what would happen then? While a handful of nobles gathered around Tudor, only the Doctor and Clara lived to tend to Richard, but it seemed that both had left this world.

Until Richard groaned and groped around for his sword, he exhaled painfully as he lay on his front.

"Thank God! You're alive!" Clara cried, tears forming in her eyes.

Richard, using his sword for support, grimaced and let out a loud roar as he pushed himself up with all his remaining strength. All eyes were on him- the man who was supposed to have died twice that day, was alive!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Was anyone expecting that? Who did you think the voice belonged to?
> 
> Who would you say was your favourite Falcon Knight? Sadly it's only Richard, Clara and the Doctor left! :(
> 
> What did you think of Macabrius' ploy, was it a good one?
> 
> The next chapter will be our penultimate chapter, called "Bring Him Home", and yes it is partially inspired by Les Miserables, probably not in the way you think though. ;)
> 
> Please read and review.


	20. Bring Him Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wait!" Northumberland said, putting his hand up to the men behind him. He strode forwards cautiously, until he was the closest to them, but still metres away. In that moment, Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland, threw his sword into the earth and saluted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the penultimate chapter of this fic. In many ways this is my favourite. I hope you all love it too, Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, kudosed, bookmarked and followed!

Richard cried out in pain again, as the Doctor and Clara supported him and helped sheath his blade, but his eyes fell upon the masses of Lancastrian soldiers in the courtyard, all staring at the three of them, while their leader lay wounded and barely alive behind.

"Wait!" Northumberland said, putting his hand up to the men behind him. He strode forwards cautiously, until he was the closest to them, but still metres away. In that moment, Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland, threw his sword into the earth and saluted.

Oxford, William and Thomas Stanley followed suite, to the distaste of Jasper Tudor, although somewhat begrudgingly as if being forced to comply with Northumberland's orders. One by one, each of the soldiers that remained standing cast aside their weapons, especially the French mercenaries.

Richard couldn't help but smile, as his surviving friends assisted him out of the walls of Market Bosworth. But his back was still burning from the collision; he winced and gasped.

"Doctor!"

The Doctor understood and pointed his sonic screwdriver at the back plates of the breastplate fell away, so that only the front remained, allowing Richard's back to breath. The Doctor also tried to summon the TARDIS to them, it wasn't that far away, he could see it in the distance, but they would have to walk or run for quite a bit.

"That's better," Richard whispered. "Thank you." He retracted his arms from the shoulders of his friends, before looking up to the sky; the clouds had stepped aside for the sun to radiate a full and glorious splendour, one last time before it set. He looked upon the sun that smiled at him and he smiled back, understanding what this meant, in truth he had known for some time, but this confirmed it.

Richard ran his fingers through the red grass, enjoying their feel, as he walked like a child who had suddenly discovered nature and its beauty. He looked to his side where he saw piles of bodies on the field, broken weapons and standards and heraldic devices of clans that didn't really mean much in the grand scheme of things and that felt liberating. There lay Bosworth Field, and he was at the part known as Redmore Plain, named because of the red grass that it encompassed.

"Your Grace?" Clara called, running up to him with the Doctor. They were now half a mile from Market Bosworth.

"I am not His Grace," Richard grinned. "I am Richard."

His friends looked at him confused, but then it dawned on them, when they saw his sad smile.

"Richard, you're not...?" Clara began.

"It's my time," Richard replied.

"It's all my fault!" Clara began to cry. "All those knights, and you... you came to save me, it's all because of me!"

The Doctor was about to say something to console her, but Richard beat him to it.

"No, Clara!" he hushed gently, holding her shoulders, before moving one to her cheek. "Sweet Clara, brave Clara, not at all!" He sighed and looked around, to the Doctor and then the sky. "This is my destiny- I was born to die at Bosworth."

At this point, the Doctor began to shed silent tears.

"In a few minutes, Jasper Tudor will send some of his men after us, you need to run," Richard said evenly.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor uttered.

"What for, my friend?" Richard said.

"I'm sorry, that we couldn't save you."

Richard shook his head, his own eyes about to water. "When we first met on that April afternoon, I was so lost. But you found me and you saved me- both of you!" He and the Doctor rushed into a brotherly embrace. "You helped me remember the man I used to be. You are amongst my truest friends. Thank you!"

They pulled apart, as Richard laid eyes on Clara. "Look after her, Doctor," he whispered. "She is more precious than you will ever know."

The Doctor nodded.

Richard put a hand on both of their shoulders. "Remember, make sure that my nieces and nephews are scattered so Tudor can't get his hands on them. Francis will know what to do next militarily. And remember today, and make sure the world remembers."

Clara sobbed once more and hugged Richard, who returned the embrace before quickly pulling away- it was too soon but it had to be done.

"Run," Richard said softly, stepping away from them. He could hear Jasper Tudor's barking, and he knew that there were men about to charge from Market Bosworth.

"Richard," the Doctor croaked. "Loyaulte me lie!"

"Loyaulte me lie," Clara repeated.

Richard drew his blade, possibly for the last time and raised it before his bruised face. "Loyaulte me lie! Now run!"

Clara could see the armoured men that were running from the exit of the town, half a mile from where the man who had saved her was stood. The Doctor took her hand and they ran like they had never run before, the TARDIS was very close now, waiting for them on a hill under a lone tree. They pushed open the doors and dashed in, the Doctor suddenly fiddling with the controls.

Clara's mind went again to Richard, and guilt fell on her for once thinking all those things about him: usurping the throne for pure greed, murdering his nephews, murdering his wife- who he had actually loved more than anyone in his life.

He was now about to die protecting his friends. Clara knew what was about to happen and her heart raced, dreading it. A platoon of men would all rush at him, while he would fight valiantly, but the odds were massively stacked against him. They would hack at him and batter him from all angles, even as he lay dying, even when he was dead, they would completely desecrate his body, strip it naked and continue to abuse it.

"Help him," Clara squeaked. "Please."

The Doctor looked up, face wet from his tears. He edged closer to Clara and hugged her close to his chest. "Clara, I really wish I could, but you know I can't and you know-"

"No, I mean, he's all alone!" Clara beseeched. "Can we not make it easier or something?"

The Doctor looked into her weeping eyes and gave a wistful smile and nodded. He stepped away to rummage through a drawer, from where he pulled out a single blue crystal.

"What're we doing?" Clara asked.

"These crystals are like a key to the spirit world, that's why Macabrius wanted to use many of them to raise an undead army. But we only need one."

"What're we doing?"

"We're going to bring him home."

 

Richard inhaled to steady his breathing, as he drew his dagger and watched about thirty Lancastrians armed with swords, axes and haldberds descending from the town. He could not say that he was not scared; before he had just gone into battle, putting all faith in God and his own skill, but this was completely different- he knew that his time was over!

Despite that, he flexed his muscles and smiled grimly at the glorious sun, he would give his own splendour before he went down.

Richard let out an angry growl, as he charged at the incoming gang. He quickly dispatched one with a downward slash, before parrying the blow of another and making him taste the pain of his dagger. Now he was literally pushing, elbowing and kicking too at his enemies, refusing to go without the utmost defiance.

Richard felt a sword graze his thigh, and he was kicked in the chest, the air being blown out of him and his sword fell from his hand. Luckily, he thrust the dagger deep into his kicker's abdomen and struck him with all his might with the sword that he swept up, felling the biggest of his tormentors with that blow.

There were some behind him now, Richard cried out in painful anger as he felt a sword impale his side; he swung the blade into the soldier's face. He clutched his wound and saw his own blood draining from his body. There were three soldiers near him now. He disarmed the first one and struck him hard with the flat side of his blade, only to feel himself get punched by a fourth, and the second and third to drive their swords into his back, causing him to groan.

Suddenly, he was tired, unwilling to go on. He turned his head just about in time to see a sharp halberd swinging at his face. Richard turned away, only for it to strike and sink into his already throbbing skull, cutting his flesh, bloodying his head and hair, sending him falling down, sword dropping from his hands- he was completely vulnerable. A dozen kicks crashed into his body, while he lay down, trying to protect himself. He had no energy left to yell out as he felt his back crunch, and the dull and throbbing overtaking him, even as a sword was now being impaled into already cracked ribs.

It was over, all over. He closed his eyes, waiting for the torment to continue and for death to take him.

A moment passed and nothing happened.

Richard opened his eyes, and the soldiers were all gone. He was still throbbing from the pain, but it was nowhere near as much as it had been. His skin was still cut and bruised, but it appeared to be healing.

He was dressed in a light blue doublet, a lot like the colour of the sky above him. The fields were not red, but a wonderful shade of golden, and the sun was at it's peak, joyfully laughing. It wasn't too hot, nor was it too bright. White roses were gathered around the field and a feeling of utter joy beamed in Richard's heart, as he smelt their sweet scent. He heard the birds sing a warm and welcoming melody, he saw the clear blue and calm lakes and knew why he felt so at home here. For these were the Moors of Yorkshire!

And then he saw her.

She was dressed in a long light pink dress, as she approached him. Her brown hair was tied back and under a pure white headdress. She smiled warmly and her blue eyes blinked and called to him. Richard felt goosebumps in his arms and tears about to rush from his eyes, as his breathing turned more rapid.

"Anne?" he croaked. "My Anne!"

"My darling Dickon," Anne replied. "Take my hand."

Richard took her hand and pulled himself up and threw his arms around her. "I've missed you so much!" She felt real; her slender figure embraced his like a blanket on a cold night! His blood flooded to his veins, as his body remembered having hers touching his. His heart welled up with memories of being with her, especially when they would run and picnic in these moors, their laughs echoed in his veins. How stupid had he been to forget that and risk giving that up?

"I've missed you too," Anne assured him quietly, but her words resonated clearly in his mind, heart and soul.

"Forgive me, Anne," Richard whispered, pulling back, but still holding her shoulders. "I hurt you, I abandoned you when I should have been there for you. I swore to honour you and I failed!"

Anne touched his cheek and looked into his eyes. "I know you never meant to hurt me. I know that you have been hurting too, more than any man should, especially if he is my man."

Anne was silently crying now, which Richard took as a cue to gently wipe away the tears that trickled and stroke her face tenderly. She smiled and blushed, prompting Richard to smile too.

"The truth is I hurt you too and pushed you away, because I was insecure. I was desperate, and I should have had faith in you," Anne confessed. "I blamed you for killing your nephews because I was so angry-"

"I know, Anne," Richard nodded. "I forgive you."

Anne opened her mouth, as if to say something but closed it again. "Will you walk with me, my love?" she requested.

Richard nodded and let her entwine her arm around his as the strolled through the moors, where the birds' melody grew stronger and more celebratory.

"So, where are we?" Richard said. "I mean, I'm dead aren't I?"

"You're home," Anne replied. Sure enough, in the distance, there was Middleham Castle, that beautiful place which they had been blessed to call their home. Where, despite the dangers and distress of Westminster, they could all seek sanctuary and respite from that. Richard, Anne, Ned, Megan and Ed.

"Wait, about Bess?" Richard said suddenly. "She's still betrothed to Tudor; I didn't finalise things between her and Manuel!"

Anne smiled wistfully, her eyes manifesting what was now the shadow of some painful memories. "I'm afraid she does."

"Then I truly failed?" Richard said abruptly, his heart sinking, before seeing his wife's surprised disappointment. "Anne... I'm sorry..."

"It's all right," Anne shook her head. "She is and always will be your niece." She touched her hand on his chest and massaged it by rotating in a circular motion. "But let me tell you something, Richard. Whatever he does, however big he acts, you terrify him."

"I can imagine," Richard chuckled.

"Because you saved him and whatever happens, Henry Tudor gained a shred of decency when you did that. He will grow to love her."

Richard nodded solemnly.

Suddenly, they were in one of the gardens of Middleham Castle, lilac flowers and white lilies emitted their scent and bloomed before their eyes on the walls and numerous flowerbeds. A fountain in the shape of a leafless tree poured out its water, giving a soft trickling sound. Behind that, there was a gateway, almost like an enchanted porthole. Although, Richard couldn't see clearly what was behind it, it seemed like a lush green garden, more beautiful and radiant than he had ever seen. Suddenly, it was there again- that melody, beckoning him.

"So, we will see our Ned again?" Richard asked.

"Yes, Richard, he is waiting for you," Anne smiled at him. "He misses you."

Richard's mouth flowered into a smile once more, but it quickly turned grim. "That means I'll also have to face my brother Edward. I'll have to tell him how I failed to protect his sons, how my reign began with shedding of too much blood." He thought he had already forgiven himself for all of this, but then it dawned on him that he would have to answer for his sins and trespasses, which was akin to the dreaded waiting before battle but much worse.

Anne held his hand and touched his cheek, before stroking down to his beating heart with the ever most gentle grace. He found his grey eyes looking deep into her blue, and he struggled not to pull them away, yet fearing the tears that were building up.

"Richard, my love," Anne consoled. "You only did what you thought was right in difficult circumstances, when it was not possible to get it right."

Richard nodded, shaking, but Anne reached up and pecked him with a lingering kiss on his cheek. His skin warmed up and a smile broke through.

"Today, you saved an innocent girl from a terrible fate, you lay down your own life so your friends could live, you put your people before your glory and your own name! Most would have failed where you succeeded. That's what makes you Richard Plantagenet, and I am so proud!"

It was Anne's turn to blink back the tears, and Richard's turn to hold her shoulders, exactly like he would have done what felt like a lifetime ago.

"I would not change what happened between us, Richard," Anne said.

"You wouldn't?"

"No, I would not," Anne beamed wistfully. "I take all that we were and all that we had. When we played together, when we were separated... when we found each other again..."

Richard took her hand and kissed it and looked into her eyes that were filled with relief and love, love he still felt that he did not deserve.

"Whenever you protected me, loved me and cherished me," Anne continued. "Comforted me when Isabel died, stood up for me against the Woodville Queen."

"Whenever you sustained me when George died, when Edward passed away, when those who I should have been able to trust shook my faith to the core," Richard croaked and kissed her forehead tenderly. "Even when we began to drift apart?" he teased, feeling safe that she would not mind, but her answer melted his heart.

"Especially when we drifted apart, because, my love, we found each other again- we always do!" Anne replied, wiping her eyes.

"You may be a broken man, Richard, but you're a good man and my man," Anne whispered. "I love you and I forgive you for everything! So forgive yourself and come with me, accept me and be mine again," she beseeched. "Please?"

Richard's eyes filled with tears of joy, as his emotions completely overwhelmed him. He smiled brightly and his eyes shone with tenderness and passion. Richard brushed a stripe of her chestnut brown hair behind her ear and stroked her cheek, which turned a deep pink. His lips were suddenly caressing hers, gently at first but then building up to spells of loving passion. He knew that she was grinning, as she kissed him back and embraced him, while his arms were on her shoulders, then stroking her arms and back.

"My beautiful Anne, my love, my wife," Richard pondered and touched his head against hers. "My home!"

Richard's heart raced with excitement, as his eyes ventured towards the gateway towards the infinite field out there. He looked up at the walls of Middleham Castle, this was the life he had always dreamed of and longed for with a nostalgic desire.

"Come with me, my love," Anne said, stepping back and holding her hand out.

Richard moved to take her slender hands in his, but stopped short, a mischievous grin shot across his face.

Anne looked at him, confused but not disappointed. "What is it?"

"Anne, do you remember when I first brought you here after our wedding?"

Anne nodded, and brightened her smile.

"I took you up, as my Duchess, like so!" Richard swiftly reached and swept her into his arms. She gave a startled laugh and clung on.

Richard sighed and thanked God for this moment, his heart was beating rapidly and growling with contentment. With all his strength and new found energy he dashed towards the gateway, holding his laughing wife.

Something urged him to look back, which he did. There stood a black haired man, in chain mail and with the crest of his White Falcon. Next to him was a brunette girl, who had tears in her eyes.

But they were not tears of sorrow, just bittersweetness. Richard cracked a warm smile and nodded. Anne was now looking at them too, before quizzically looking at Richard again, who just turned her around and walked through that gateway, into the garden.

The man and girl looked to each other and held hands, their eyes had dried up of tears. Their friend had found peace. He was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To ALL those who thought this was a story where Richard survives, I am so so sorry- but this was the plan all along. :(
> 
> Maybe I've been reading too much George RR Martin, but I wanted to write this moment from the start possibly to redeem some of the flops of Phillipa Gregory's TWQ, and give Richard and Anne a better send off. Or maybe because I had rewatched Gladiator when this idea came to me.
> 
> Honestly, how many of you saw it coming and when? I have been dropping slight hints here and there.
> 
> The next and final chapter will close this story off and will be called "Bound by Loyalty". I don't know when it will be, but it's definitely planned. Take care!


	21. Bound by Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Many who write about King Richard III, of the House of Plantagenet, have never met him or do not know him personally. I have had the fortune to see Richard on his darkest of days, and the blessing of having him by my side through one of my bleakest of hours."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE LAST FEW CHAPTERS DO NOT READ ON!
> 
> So here we are, after 2 years and a bit here comes the final chapter of Falconmaster. To recap: Clara was kidnapped by Macabrius, so Richard, the Doctor and a few others set out to save her. All, but Richard, Clara and the Doctor fell in Market Bosworth and Richard was mentally and physically wounded after his stand off with the real Macabrius. He told his friends to run while he slows down the impeding Lancastrian regiment.
> 
> Now the Doctor and Clara need to tell the others and make away with Megan and Ed. There is a little twist at the end, and I wasn't planning on that until the last minute, but here we will find our way back to modern day Britain.
> 
> Once more, I want to thank YOU ALL for allowing this story to happen by reading and reviewing. This was a really tough chapter, as my initial goal when I planned this was the last chapter! Hopefully, it's not too bad!
> 
> Here goes the final chapter: "Bound by Loyalty". :)

"Doctor, tell me this is a joke?" Jack de la Pole said quietly. They were in a gloomily lit room in Nottingham.

"It's not a joke, lad," Francis answered grimly. He had done his crying, his anxious pacing at ungodly hours. It was Jack who this wound was the freshest for, who wanted so badly for a messenger to arrive and declare that the King was requesting their assistance at Leicester. Even failing that, Jack expected his uncle to march through the gates of Nottingham with Tudor's head.

Francis heard a soft sob, but was too deflated to confirm who it belonged to.

"So, in other words, my uncle died because he was trying to save you?" Jack demanded icily.

"I-I am so, so sorry, Jack!" Clara cried.

"Careful, lad!" Francis snapped.

"You can't blame Clara for Richard's death!" the Doctor said. "It was the Lancastrian soldiers that drove their swords, daggers and pole arms into him, not Clara."

Jack nodded but said nothing, before looking away out of the window.

"I knew Dickon from childhood," Francis began, his voice breaking. "Lady Clara, believe me when I say that what he did for you today, that is a true token of his loyalty and his character, the true token of the man I knew all those years ago."

"I know," Clara said wistfully. "I will never forget that, I am so glad that I will never find out what Macabrius would have done when he discovered who I really was." She smiled painfully, wiping her eyes.

"Live a good life, Clara, live a brilliant life... and remember my uncle Dickon," Jack said.

"I will, I'll never forget as long as I live," Clara assured. _I'll be as brave and selfless as Richard was, or at least try my hardest to be._

"I dreamed that he had died," Francis admitted. "Tell me... was he happy, in the end?"

"Happy?" Jack cried, offended.

"He saw Anne," Clara said simply.

"What?"

"Before he died, we used the remaining Cryastium to build a gateway," the Doctor explained.

"So before... it happened Richard would have Anne to take him and be with him," Clara said. "We saw him when he saw her and when he lifted her up and walked through the gateway. He was happy."

"And at peace," Francis stated as a tear fell from his eyes. "I think we're going to need some food and drink if we will make this night." He cracked a smile, before rising and opening the door to ask a servant to bring supper. But there was no servant that stood outside, it was a young girl that looked as pale as chalk, almost as if her tender body was submerged with hypothermia.

"How long have you been there, Megan?" Francis probed evenly. "How much have you heard?"

Megan looked down, before holding back sob, as the realisation hit them all.

"Megan, come on," Jack said, putting an arm around her. "It's best you get to bed." Megan looked crestfallen and froze.

"She's lost her uncle!" Clara snapped.

"As have I, Lady Clara," Jack said evenly.

"He was like a father to her for nine years. Don't send her away now!" Clara beseeched. The Doctor looked at Jack, who in turn looked at Francis. The redheaded viscount nodded.

Megan slowly trailed inside and had seated herself between the Doctor and Clara, when she said: "It's my fault."

"Why do you say that?" Jack asked.

"I blessed him before he went to war, like Auntie Anne used to do, only I couldn't do it right, because he's dead." Megan had started to cry again. "I'm sorry, I-I know I shouldn't..."

"It's OK, darling," the Doctor consoled hugging her tight and kissing her head, while she held him back and began sobbing quietly. "It's not your fault. In fact let me tell you something: I think your blessing might have saved us all.

"Your uncle had to make a difficult choice today- he could have chosen to live and curse us all by becomming a puppet of a vengeful and powerful man called Ares Macabrius. But your uncle chose his people, and you, before himself. And that's how he died."

"So what now?" Jack said after a long pause.

"Richard asked to take these two to Burgundy," Clara informed. "He said you, Francis, would know what to do militarily."

Francis looked shocked, but then nodded. "Yes, I have an idea, but tell me this first Doctor: what of Bess and Cecily?"

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably, before glancing at Clara, who gave him an uncertain look that told him they may as well tell the truth. He then looked down at Megan, a child, an orphan, who had just lost her last father figure, and a firestorm of ache struck his hearts.

"Richard ordered me to keep them all separate, so it will be harder to track them down," he answered.

"Very well, Ed will be better off with us, I think," Jack said. "We will need him to fight for his birthright."

"Jack, he's hardly cut out for how bad the world is, he wouldn't last fighting against Tudor or any of the other pretenders," Francis disagreed.

"I..." Megan began.

"Ed is a little boy, he's not some piece in a game of chess!" Clara reminded.

"He's going to have to learn if he wants to rule," Jack replied. "He is the son of George of Clarence, a direct blood relation of the House of York."

"I don't want him..." Megan mumbled.

"That may be, but he will be taken advantage of by everyone as a boy king is," Francis pointed out. "He's afraid of his own shadow, I've seen him, I see how withdrawn he was before he became the ward of Richard and Anne, I've seen him gain a slight confidence, but it's not enough! He won't be able to cope with what's happened."

"So what do you suggest?" Jack asked.

"We put you forwards as Tudor's challenger from the House of York, it wouldn't hurt to have Ed by our side to appeal to those loyal to that side of the family, but you are the kingship material," Francis implored.

"Excuse me, Megan has something to say!" the Doctor declared. He smiled encouragingly at the girl who was suddenly fell silent and defensive, as the room looked upon her. "Go on say what you need to, he is your brother after all."

Megan took a breath and spoke. "He is only ten years old, but has already lost our parents, Aunt Anne and now Uncle Richard, and now you want to take gamble with his life? Has he not been through enough at his age? What's the point of a stupid crown if it costs us everything and everyone we love?"

Francis sighed with a look of resignation.

"Because we are linked to that crown and there are those who will kill us because of it," Jack muttered. "Don't you see, Megan, we have to do this, so does Ed, eventually."

"He can do it when he's old enough, and right now he's not!" Megan exclaimed.

Jack looked at Francis, who cracked a smile and nodded.

"She's right," the older man said.

"So Megan and Ed will go to Burgundy," the Doctor confirmed. "Bess and Cecily will be kept seperately, and you two will lead the resistance?"

"That's correct," Francis said, rising. "Jack, I think it's time you take Ed and bring him here, so the Doctor and Clara can take these two to safety. Take Megan with you."

Jack took his younger cousin by the hand and walked out leaving the three together. Francis waited until the two were out of the hallway before slowly closing the door. He took a long sigh.

"I dreamed of Richard dying," he croaked. "I dreamed that he made a reckless charge at Tudor, while William Stanley hacked him down from his horse."

"I'm so sorry, Francis," Clara said.

"Don't be, my friends," Francis assured, a tear coming to his eye. "After Anne died, he became a different man, being unable to properly grieve. I always worried he would do something too reckless, and I couldn't help him.

"But you two did something that brought him back. Richard might have died, but his last act wasn't a futile charge, and I think I find that strangely comforting." He turned to face them, the moonlight falling on his face, extending on his eyes that looked into Clara and the Doctor's, eyes that engraved the sincerity of the words and the wistful smile that followed.

"Dickon was very blessed to have friends like you, and so was I, so am I," Francis continued. "I know there are somethings you cannot change, but the little things you did they meant the most. Like your leaf, Clara."

Clara nodded uncertainly, before she could ask if Richard had told him, Francis shook his head.

"All things must come to an end, and so must this. I suppose that this is goodbye. Goodbye Doctor, Earl of Gallifrey; goodbye Lady Clara." He streched out his hand and the Doctor shook it. The viscount took Clara's hand, bowed and kissed it.

"Goodbye Francis," Clara said. "And thank you."

"Good luck, my friend," the Doctor said. "For the future, and for the days ahead."

Francis opened the door for them and looked like he was about to say something. "Likewise Doctor," he said simply. "Likewise."

 

The French style gardens of Burgundy were supposed to be amongst the most beautiful in the world, but Clara floated through them like a ghost with a heavy heart, as she climbed back through the doors of the TARDIS, with the Doctor following behind. They had delivered Edward and Margaret Plantagenet to their remaining aunt in Burgundy, who had graciously accepted them and thanked them for their service.

Meg had beseeched them to regale the story of how her brother had died. The Doctor preferred to see it as the story of how Richard had lived to his final moments and beyond. Meg had listened intently and at the end asked the two to promise her to never forget that story of how Richard had lived.

During the journey to Burgundy, Ed was asleep for most of it. Megan had clearly seen the interior but was too overwhelmed with quiet pain to comment. The Doctor had tried to comfort her and asked her if she wanted to sleep, but Megan had her own questions.

"This is for our safety, isn't it?" she had asked. "Just for the time being?"

"Are you having doubts, Megan?" the Doctor had responded.

"No, it's just that I don't want to hide forever."

"Well, maybe you won't have to hide, maybe you'll go back," the Doctor had said quietly. "Or maybe Burgundy will be your new and better life."

"My uncle didn't hide away from his enemies, he faced them."

Clara had sighed, sensing Jack de la Pole there.

"I know, Megan, but if you're too reckless, you and your brother can be executed by your enemies, so just be careful," the Doctor had advised.

"I will be. But if they want to execute me, I won't go meekly, I won't! I'll refuse to kneel and I will fight them just like my uncle did!" Megan had declared.

The Doctor had not only been surprised by this change of tone, but Clara could tell he was saddened. "You are your uncle's niece," he had croaked before getting up.

Now that was done, their goodbyes were said. Clara dreaded asking the next question, but the silence of not knowing was even more excruciating. Megan and Ed were no longer two people in a history book, but real, living children who the Doctor and Clara had just left behind. Real children who had smiled, laughed, cried and played with them.

"What happens to them?" Clara asked as the TARDIS flew into a steady orbit.

"Clara," he protested.

"Please, Doctor, I need to know, the whole truth," Clara insisted.

The Doctor sighed. "They eventually go back, when Ed is old enough. He, Jack and Francis attempt to retake the throne. Jack is killed in battle, Francis presumably too... Ed doesn't get to even wield a sword before he is taken captive and executed by Henry VII."

Clara nodded, expecting as much, but each word struck her heart nonetheless.

"Megan survives as far as Henry VIII, but is later remotely linked to a conspiracy, and the king is becoming very paranoid and jealousy guards his throne. He orders for her arrest, all because of a tapestry produced by Thomas Cromwell supposedly implicating her. A few years later she is ordered to be executed.

"Megan stays true to her word: she refuses to go with the executioner, she refuses to kneel and has to be forced. Even after the first chop, she-"

"Doctor!" Clara cried out. "Please!" Clara was shaking with tears, as she curled up on the stairs of the TARDIS.

The Doctor, to his credit, got of the main platform and sat right next to his friend, before holding her firmly yet comfortingly with his arms. "I'm so sorry, Clara, I wish I could tell you otherwise. But the point is, Megan was defiant until the end."

"Yeah," she croaked, drying her tears and composing herself. "The little things we did made some difference." Though she looked unsure. "Right, Doctor?"

The Doctor's eyes wanted to release those tears, but he swallowed and took a deep breath. "The curse of the Time Lord is knowing you can't save some people and it's hard. Don't wollow in mourning for the dead, cherish the living. That means you, your family, Archie and Angie, and all those other people that are alive."

Clara nodded, considering that he was right. The Doctor was over 900 years old, how often had he been forced to let go of the dead? He was now looking it her straight with those genuine and sincere eyes. The same eyes that warmed her heart when he had asked her if she felt safe travelling with him. The answer was yes, emotionally and physically. Cherish the living, that's right, she thought.

She pecked him on the cheek, next to his mouth, and he was returning the affection, and it felt right- what else could they do when the people they had grown to love were dying, but cherish the living?

They broke apart without igniting too much passion and Clara leaned into an embrace, where she tucked underneath the Doctor's chin and let out a heavy sigh. "What now?"

"I need to stop over in Portugal and deliver something to Donatella Meduro and then we'll stop over at your timezone.

"Why?"

"Because we have something very important to do there."

 

 

The hum of engines sounded like a growl to Clara's ears as she marched through the streets of Leicester with the Doctor at her side. The Time Lord had today exchanged his bow tie for a sombre black neck tie.

Clara wore a black dress with a blazer jacket, on the lapel was a small white rose, akin to what many of the spectators were wearing.

A tower clock chimed at the hour and the crowds fell into a respectful silence. Clara saw the Doctor wave a psychic paper to a carriage master, who swiftly handed the reins over to them.

A black car slowly emerged behind them and came to a steady halt. An elderly man in a black tweed jacket and beret with a white falcon stood before the boot. He supported himself on a cane, but called in a loud Yorkshire accent: "Bearer party, stand by!" A group of men in falcon berets stood to attention. "Three steps forwards; lift the coffin! Full turn! Step forwards eight steps!" The pallbearers edged towards the carriage, placing the coffin of their friend on the back, and the carriage pulled away en route to Leicester Cathedral.

Our friend, Clara pondered. To all these people here- the bearers, the spectators, the woman who had found him under the car park months ago, and even his supporters- he was a just a historical figure, who they have read, heard and debated about.

But to us, he is our friend Dickon. Who we spoke with, dined with, laughed and cried with, saw deep into his soul, fought alongside and were with him in his final moments. And now he's gone. Clara realised she was shedding silent tears, she quickly tried to wipe them away but the Doctor, luckily only the Doctor, saw. He comforted her with a smile and held her hand, like a warm buzz or a hum in the deafening silence, and she smiled back.

In the cathedral, the pallbearers took the coffin and lay it to rest, while a choir sang hyms over Richard's body. The vicar gave a service about finally being able to rest in peace.

"To honour my namesake, we have Professor Sirius Keeper, from the University of Leicester, who would like to share with us a discovery that is fitting for Richard's funeral," the Duke of Gloucester announced after a while. "Let me hand you over to Professor Keeper."

It was then the old man with the black tweed jacket, who had commanded the bearing party took the podium. For one moment, it seemed like his eyes glanced at the Doctor and Clara as they were seated in the pughs, but he quickly darted his eyes to the other end.

"Ladies and gentlemen, about two years ago, over five centuries after that fateful day on Bosworth Field, we discovered what were the remains of King Richard III. Since then there has been a surge of fascination into the life and death of this man. Here, at Leicester Cathedral where we bury Richard once more, I find it fitting to share a discovery with yourselves, for the whole nation and world to see.

"With me, I have a copy of a contemporary letter that was archived by Donatella Meduro in Portugal, however, for a long time this was ignored because Ms Meduro was a woman and considered ignorant of these things. I, for one, am really thankful for her efforts, despite all that. It is a letter written by the Earl of Gallifrey, speaking about Richard."

Clara looked wide eyed towards the Doctor, who winked at her. She guessed that's what his stop in Portugal involved and now it was confirmed.

_"Many who write about King Richard III, of the House of Plantagenet, have never met him or do not know him personally. I have had the fortune to see Richard on his darkest of days, and the blessing of having him by my side through one of my bleakest of hours._

_"Far from being an ambitious, usurping and cruel murderer, he was a man with his flaws, but a good man. A man we can all learn from about loyalty, love, courage and honour. His personal motto was 'loyalty binds me'; I write this today because I too am bound by loyalty._

_"On the 22nd day of August 1485 Richard Plantagenet, along with Sirs Robert Brackenbury, Richard Ratcliffe, James and Robert Harrington, Michael Mason, Thomas Huddleston and William Catesby, set out because of loyalty. Richard gave his life to save a very dear friend of mine. He chose to do that instead of becoming a slave to a tyrant of a puppet master. He chose to do that knowing he would most likely die and what would be written about him for generations. He chose to do that because his people meant more to him than his crown._

_"He had the heart of a king and this heart and soul were bound by loyalty."_

As Keeper read on, his voice broke at some points. When he reached the end, visible tears fell from his eyes, tears that the Doctor and Clara shared. In that moment, the old professor looked up and shared a definite and wistful gaze with the Doctor and Clara, as the congregation gave a golfer's applause. He nodded.

 

After the service, the two excused themselves from the after drinks and made to head back to the TARDIS, as the red glow in the sky signalled the setting of the sun, akin to that moment at Bosworth when Richard said goodbye to them.

"So, where to now?" the Doctor asked softly.

Clara looked at him sadly, that question confirming the inevitable: the sun was setting on this chapter of their lives. She wondered how glorious it must be for the Doctor to meet and know all these people from the past, present and future, yet so painful knowing eventually he will have to say goodbye- to her included. That thought stung.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Clara forced herself to smile and nodded.

"Clara."

She sighed. "No, but I will be. Doctor, I think we should go to my home."

"Home?" the Doctor said.

"Not Maitlands' home, but my home up North," she explained. "Home, home. But not forever, no, no, just a stop over," she elaborated quickly as she saw the Doctor's worried face. "I just need to see my dad, you should come... if you want."

The Doctor grinned, for he thought for a moment he was already losing her. He had just said goodbye to one friend, he didn't need to say it to another. But no, his feisty and bubbly Clara was still here.

"What's so funny?" Clara demanded, making him grin even brighter.

"Home home, but not forever, with your dad? Why thank you Clara Oswald; I accept your invitation!"

"Answer me this- who was that man, who read out the letter?"

"I have no idea, but that's a story for another day!" the Doctor waved off.

"Don't you know it's rude to talk about someone behind their back?" a voice scolded.

"Professor Keeper!" the Doctor exclaimed, both turned to face him with a panicked look, but the old man gave a warm smile.

"Don't tell me you don't recognise me?" he said. "Have I really aged that badly?

"The last time we spoke, I told you that I was blessed to have friends like you," he continued.

"Francis?" Clara cried as the penny dropped and echoed through the sky, she then her arms around him, and then the Doctor jumped up in joy and joined in the hug. By some miracle Francis Lovell was stood before them and alive!

"Dearie me, I'm still an old man!" Francis cried out.

"How?" the Doctor asked. "You're like 600 years old!"

"And you're 1000 years old!" Francis shot back. "You chose the name: Doctor, why? Because you made a promise to heal the sick. I chose to be the Keeper because that's my calling, to keep custody of the truth about Dickon."

"But, but, that means you're a Time Lord?" Clara questioned excitedly. "You are, aren't you?"

"Part Time Lord," the Keeper corrected. "I have been here, in the shadows, for a long while, until I decided I fancied myself as a legendry warrior. After being impaled with a lance at the Battle of Stoke, I was forced to regenerate and realise that I was meant to keep the truth safe, to gather knowledge and information as many around me spread ignorance and falsehoods. Then a day would come hundreds of years from now when I would share what the truth I had guarded, when the world was ready."

"But that means there's two of us!" the Doctor exclaimed jovially. "Two of us with similar goals, similar promises, from the same planet- how could I not have seen that? Why didn't you say what you were sooner?"

"Because I wanted to keep that secret, even from you, Doctor," the Keeper admitted.

The Doctor froze and his enthusiasm deflated like a balloon loosing air. "I see."

"It was nothing personal, my friend, I had my reasons, my own work to do!" the Keeper explained.

"Work you gave several lives, centuries and generations to do?" Clara said. "Richard would have been really proud."

The Keeper smiled, but then his eyes glistened. "Work that is done now."

"What do you mean?" the Doctor said.

The Keeper sighed. "For hundreds of years, I have worked to protect the truth about Bosworth, what happened between Richard and Macabrius. Now it's time for others to take the helm, and the time for me to sail. Everyone must accept their time will end, and I know mine has.

"It's not as bad as it seems," he justified, seeing the sadness in Clara and the Doctor's eyes, as they were reining back the tears. "We are all stories, if you think about it- stories that we write and act, stories that others tell of us long after we return to the dust."

"And that's part of our legacy," the Doctor croaked.

"Aye," the Keeper assented. "And this chapter in my story is coming to an end, but this spark will inspire thousands of other stories- including those of you two."

"So what now?" Clara whispered.

"Now, we must accept that this is the end of this road for me, my friends," the older man said softly. "If you want to do something for me, remember me, remember Richard and all those friends you have made- keep our stories alive. Goodbye, Lord Gallifrey, and Lady Clara." The jubilation that the two had felt came descending to the ground after only minutes high in the clouds- this was the real goodbye that Francis would share with them.

The Keeper turned to leave, he felt overwhelmed that this was over, his centuries of hard work being what drove him. Living on had lost it's novelty when all his loved ones- Anna, Richard, Ratcliffe, Jack and even Megan and Ed had died and left him to float through life. _At least Richard got only one year of agony before he found Anne- I want that... I want it so bad..._ He quickly scuttled away, before the Doctor and Clara could see his tears.

"Wait!" the impossibly stubborn girl called after him. "What if there's something you can do for us? What if you still have work?"

"You're too kind, my dear," the Keeper said. "I am an aging man, already past my prime, having already done what I was here to do-"

"No, listen!" Clara snapped. "You told me it's the little things that can mean the most, right, you told me that when we left for Burgundy? Do one thing for me, come with me back home. I'll tell my dad to save another seat for our table. Tell us of some of your stories!"

Her voice was breaking as she spoke, but the Keeper's voice was inaudible when he tried to speak, and he had to force his throat clear.

The Doctor and Clara looked into the eyes of the Keeper and saw Francis Lovell looking back, smiling and shining with a tear. Through those eyes, they saw the snapshots of the stories in his soul, of Richard, of his family, of one Dame of Maitland and Earl of Gallifrey, and of 500 years of patience, bereavement and waiting.

The final splendour of the setting sun brought a natural spotlight on Francis. "Aye, I could that. For one more story, one more adventure!"

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again, to every single one of you- you're support, criticism, reviewing and favouriting really helped me to write this. So thank you.
> 
> But now is the end of this story. It's not perfect, but I hope it inspires your own stories, not just on FanFiction. :)
> 
> I did not plan anything with the Keeper until the last minute! Who else knew it was Francis? Historically, he disappeared after the Battle of Stoke. Some say he had died, others say he fled to Scotland or Burgundy, but purely for the purpose of this verse: he regenerated.
> 
> For the next few uploads it will normally be fluff I work on (on my FanFiction page), I need that, and then I'll continue Lone Cats and Wolf Pack. Once again, thank you so much and Happy New Year!
> 
> Please let me know what you think.


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